


Still Alive

by jenkies81



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Comfort, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Master/Slave, POV Dean Winchester, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Savior Castiel (Supernatural), Sex Slave Dean Winchester, Sexual Slavery, Sick Dean Winchester, Slave Trade, Slave!Dean, Slavery, Slow Burn, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenkies81/pseuds/jenkies81
Summary: Dean has been able to adapt to please each of his former masters, but his new master is a mystery. He keeps telling Dean he's "safe" and he keep asking Dean to make choices.He's lived through so much already. Can it be true this is the end? Is he really free?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 48
Kudos: 257
Collections: Destiel ✦ The Road To Freedom





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally deleted this because I'm a moron.

Dean is in no hurry to meet his new master. He was the last slave sold at auction today. He understands that much. He understands he is on the wrong side of 35 looking at the end of his life.

His last master used him as a sex slave, but he was young and pretty when he was first purchased. That was years ago. He’ll be lucky to work in a house if his master doesn’t shoot him on sight once he gets a better look at him.

He’s led on a leash and taken to the man who purchased him. He keeps his eyes down and when they stop, he drops to his knees, partially from exhaustion and partially from habit. He gulps when a pair of shiny dress shoes come into view.

“He’s all yours,” says the man holding his leash.

“Thank you,” says the shoes. His voice is deep and gravely, and his tone is brisk.

Dean feels the leash change hands.

“Um,” says the shoes.

“He’ll move when you move,” says the man.

The shoes tugs on the leash as he starts to move.

Dean stands quickly. He needs to make a good impression. The rest of his life depends on it. He follows the shoes to a car. He follows _Master_ to the car.

Master drops the leash next to the trunk so that’s where Dean kneels and he assumes he’ll be riding in the trunk.

It makes sense. He’s not pretty anymore. Not something to show off.

Master walks closer and removes Dean’s collar. “I think it’s safe to assume we can leave this behind,” he says.

Dean doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he’s supposed to. He waits for the new collar. He could tell a lot about a master by the collar they chose. Some liked to know their slave was feeling something, so they’d use a shock collar. Some used a spiked collar. Some used all leather.

It didn’t matter. It covered up the brand on the back of his neck that marked him as property.

“There we go,” says master. “You’re free.”

Dean will never be free.

Then master wraps a blanket around Dean.

“I can treat your wounds back at my house. Would you like to ride in the back so you can sleep, or do you want to sit in the front?”

Dean isn’t really paying attention to the question, so he doesn’t answer.

Master sets a bag on the ground just within Dean’s line of sight. He rifles through the contents until he seems to find what he is looking for. Then Master does something that should have been a sign of the events that would follow.

Master kneels in front of Dean. “Can you meet my eyes?” he asks.

Dean does as he was told.

Master has icy blue eyes and dark, messy hair. “Hello, Dean,” he says. “My name is Castiel. I’m here to help you.”

Dean freezes because no one has addressed him like that in over a decade. He searches Master’s eyes.

“You look awful,” says Master. Though he doesn’t seem to mean it as an insult, just an observation.

Dean’s been standing on his feet all day for the past week without food or water and with frequent, sometimes unexplained, beatings. No one wanted to fuck him. That was a bad sign. It didn’t seem like this man wanted to fuck him either.

Hell, maybe this man bought him to do a job around the house, then planned to try to sell him again. Or shoot him. Dean’s not worth much. He sold for less than half of what he used to sell for.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted,” says Master. He sighs. “You’re allowed to speak. I’m not sure you know that, but you’re free. The abolitionists won.”

Dean has no idea what he’s talking about.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He sighs again. “Get in the car, I’ll explain on the way home.” He opens the front passenger side door.

Dean hesitates.

“It’s all right,” says Master. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He extends his arm and offers Dean a hand.

Dean takes it because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Master helps him to his feet. He looks into Dean’s eyes again.

“I will never hurt you,” says Master. “Do you understand?”

Dean nods, not because he understands but because that seems like the right answer.

Master helps him into the car. He fusses with Dean’s blanket and seatbelt before getting in the car himself. “Have you been in a car before?” he asks.

Dean nods again. “Yes, Master,” he answers quietly.

Alastair asked Dean yes or no questions most of the time.

_Would you like to eat today?_

_Yes, Master._

_Have you been bad?_

_Yes, Master._

_Do you deserve to eat?_

_No, Master._

_Then why should I feed you?  
_

Dean was never able to figure out questions that had ambiguous answers. Alastair liked to confuse him, get him going and talking with yes or no, then change the pattern and whip him when he was wrong.

Dean keeps his head down. None of his masters liked eye contact. Hell, his own father didn’t like eye contact.

“Are you tired?” asks Master. “You are more than welcome to sleep on the ride home, though we don’t have far to go.”

“Are you tired” was a direct question. But “You are more than welcome” to do anything was very ambiguous. Dean wasn’t welcome to do anything. Part of him hopes Master is planning to put him out of his misery. If he could die, maybe he could finally rest. He doesn’t mean to nod off, he really doesn’t, but he’s so tired and hungry his body doesn’t give him much choice.

When he awakes, Master is pulling into the driveway of a nice sized Victorian-style home. He suspects Master has money. But if he has money, why would he buy such a low-quality slave?

Dean holds the blanket closer. For some reason, his eyes begin to water.

Master notices right away. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Dean has no idea.

Master gets out of the car quickly and reappears on Dean’s side. He opens the door and unclicks Dean’s seatbelt. He kneels, again putting himself at Dean’s level. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Dean shakes his head. “I’m fine, Master” he mumbles.

“I noticed you were limping earlier,” says Master. “What happened?”

He bought a used-up slave with a limp? Dean didn’t realize he was still limping. His leg healed weeks ago.

“I hurt my leg,” answers Dean, then he adds, “Master.”

“Please, you don’t need to call me that. You can call me Cas. It’s short for Castiel. That’s what most people call me. How did you hurt your leg?”

Dean’s not sure how he’s going to communicate with this new master. He seems to want Dean to talk a lot. “I was bad,” answers Dean.

“What did you do?”

“Master, my old master, asked me a question and I didn’t answer.”

“Are you saying Alastair did something to your leg?”

“Yes, Mast—Cas.”

“What did he do to you?”

Dean’s eyes are watering more now. It’s strange, he stopped crying years ago. But this new master keeps telling him things like he’s “free” and “safe” and that he’ll “never hurt” him.

“I was bad,” Dean says again.

Master reaches a hand up and brushes Dean’s tears away with his thumb. It’s so small and so gentle a gesture that something in Dean snaps. He’s not ready for this. This master is going to be just kind enough to break his heart.

“It’s all right, Dean. You’re safe now.”

What does that even mean?

“I was bad,” Dean says again.

“I’m sure whatever happened, it does not justify Alastair hurting you.”

Master clearly doesn’t understand the rules.

“Let me help you inside,” says Master. Again, he offers Dean a hand.

Dean accepts, but he stumbles a bit getting out of the car. He feels dizzy.

“Lean on me,” says Master. “I’ve got you.”

They make their way slowly into the house. Once inside, Master takes Dean over to the couch and helps him get comfortable.

The whole thing is so alien. Dean’s only allowed on furniture when someone wants something with his body.

“You can lie down while I fix you something to eat,” says Master. “Is there anything particular you’d like to eat?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” says Dean. “I don’t know.” That probably means he’s not going to eat at all. That’s fine. He’s gone this long without food before.

“How about some soup?” asks Master. “That should be easy on your stomach.”

The last thing Dean ate was food he stole from Alastair’s dog.

“Yes, please,” answers Dean. He hasn’t used his voice this much in one day in a very long time.

“We need to get you some clothes, too. And see to your injuries.” Master pauses. “Maybe we should treat your injuries first.”

Dean really doesn’t care what they do first, as long as he gets to eat today.

“I’ll be right back.”

Master leaves but returns quickly. He’s got a small box in his hand. He opens it. It’s full of gauze and medicine. “This may be a little invasive,” said Master. “But I’m a doctor. I assure you I know what I’m doing. Can you stand?”

Dean stands.

Master is sitting on the coffee table. He looks over Dean’s body, frowning to himself. “Is it difficult to breathe?” he asks.

“Yes, Mast—Cas.”

“You probably have a bruised rib, judging by the bruising on your torso.” He touches Dean’s body gently and doesn’t seem to take any pleasure from it. He’s very clinical. “Let me see your back.”

Dean turns.

He hears Master take a sharp breath.

Dean hangs his head. He used to be attractive. Now he’s scarred and broken.

Master’s fingers are so light on his back Dean doesn’t really register the touch until moments later.

“These don’t look infected,” says Master. He’s referring to the whip marks on Dean’s back. “Maybe we should get you in the shower first and get cleaned up.”

He’s not looking forward to a shower. Alastair used to clean him off in the back yard with a hose. When Michael owned him, he took cold group showers with other slaves.

“Can you bathe on your own?” asks Master. “Are you feeling stable enough?”

Dean nods.

Master offers Dean a hand again and helps him stand. “Can you make it up the stairs?” asks Master. “I can carry you if it’s too much for you.”

Dean’s never been carried before and he’s not sure what it entails. “I can walk,” he says.

Despite Dean being able to walk, Master follows close behind and is there to catch him when he stumbles. They make it upstairs and Master takes Dean to a bedroom. He leads him past the bed and into a connected bathroom.

“This will be your room and your bathroom,” says Master.

That sentence makes no sense. “Sir?” asks Dean.  
“Yes?”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand,” says Dean quietly.

“This is where you will stay. I mean obviously you have free run of the house. You can go wherever you want, but this room is just for you. It’s your safe space.”

Dean’s absolutely never heard of a safe space. What does that even mean?

Master turns the bath water on. He checks the temperature. “Is this warm enough?”

Dean decides he’s supposed to stick his hand under the water. It’s steaming and he expects it to burn him, but it doesn’t. It’s very pleasant. “It feels nice,” he says honestly.

Master smiles at him. “I won’t go far. Please call for me if you need something.”

Dean nods.

“Soap and shampoo and conditioner are all in there, but don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything else.”

“Yes, Cas.”

Master smiles and Dean feels a little more at ease. At least he remembered to call his Master by the correct name. He leaves Dean alone to shower.

Dean folds the blanket and places it on the counter next to the sink. He gets into the shower. The water is warm and wonderful. The last time Dean had a private shower was when he was 18. He closes his eyes and lets the water fall onto his body. It stinks the lash marks on his back, but it’s worth it for the warmth.

He wants to linger, to enjoy the water for as long as he can stand it. But he doesn’t know how long he’s allowed to be in here, so he washes quickly and reluctantly turns the shower off when he’s finished.

He stands naked in the tub for a moment. He realizes he has no idea what to do next. He steps out onto the bathmat. Is he allowed to dry himself off? This master hasn’t hit him yet, but then again, he hasn’t strayed too far from what’s expected of him.

He decides he can dry off. He takes one of the fluffy white towels from the towel rack and runs it over his body.

Suddenly his heart skips a beat. He got blood on the towel. It’s bright red against the clean, soft white. Master is going to be mad about this. No question.

Dean decides the best thing to do is tell him now. There’s no point in postponing the punishment.

Head hung; he leaves the bathroom to find his master.

He’s waiting just outside of the bedroom on a chair in the hall. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Dean shows him the towel. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know I was still bleeding. I probably ruined your blanket, too.”

“Oh, Dean,” says Master softly. “It’s all right. I can wash the towel or get a new one. I’m more worried about you bleeding. Can I take a look at your back?”

Dean nods and turns around. He’s still naked but he’s always naked so that doesn’t bother him much anymore.

“These are deeper than I thought,” says Master. “But I don’t think they’ll need stitches.” He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder to turn him back around. “I’m sure that hurts. Would you like something for the pain?”

Dean’s heart leaps into his throat. Not pills. He hates pills. They make him feel loopy and delirious and sometimes they make him forget. He hates not knowing what happened.

Apparently, the panic is evident in his face.  
“You don’t have to take anything if you don’t want to,” says Master. “But I have Motrin if you’d like to try it.”

Dean remembers Motrin. It’s for headaches and mild pain. But there’s no guarantee Master will actually give him Motrin and not something else.

Then Master does something truly bizarre. He reaches a hand out and hesitantly cups Dean’s cheek. It’s the nicest, softest touch Dean’s received in over a decade. It almost breaks him. Maybe that’s why he agrees.

“I’d like a Motrin, please.”

Master nods. He reaches into the first aid box sitting by the chair. He retrieves a bottle and shakes a large pill into his hand. “This is 800 milligrams,” he says. “It’s very strong and it should help but let me know if it doesn’t.”

“Yes, sir.” He shakes his head. He forgot again. “Yes, Cas,” he corrects. Dean swallows the pill before he realizes Master has offered him a glass of water. “Thank you,” says Dean, accepting the water. He drinks and remembers how thirsty he is.

“Let’s get you bandaged up, then we’ll eat.” He’s gentle as he uses cotton swabs to apply ointment to Dean’s wounds. Then he quickly bandages them. “Can you raise your arms?” he asks.

Dean nods and raises his arms.

Master wraps gauze around his torso several times. “That should keep the bandages in place. Now we need clothes.” He picks up a pile of folded fabric and hands it to Dean. “Do you need help getting dress?”

Dean shakes his head, “No,” he answers.

Master hands him the pile.

Dean gets dressed. When he stumbles getting into the sweatpants, Master is there to catch him.

“How long ago did you hurt your leg?” asks Master.

“A little over a month ago.”

Master frowns. “Can I ask what happened?”

Of course Master can ask what happened. He can do anything he wants.

“I broke my leg,” he answers. “Or I guess I fractured it.”

“You mean Alastair broke your leg?”

Dean’s going to fucking cry again. He holds back tears.

Master cups his cheek again and Dean leans into the touch. “Why aren’t you in a cast?” he asks gently.

He was in a cast for a while, but Alastair didn’t like the way it looked so he had it removed. The doctor had said it was only a fracture anyway. “Master Alastair didn’t like the cast,” answers Dean. He hasn’t been this honest in almost 19 years. This Master is treating him like another person, like the thing he used to be before his father sold him. He can’t go back to that. He can’t be human again. He won’t survive.

“How long were you in the cast?” He kneels again. “Do you mind if I feel your leg?”

Dean is his property; he can do what he wants. “I don’t mind,” says Dean.

Master feels around his calf muscle. He runs his fingers down Dean’s shin. “Is this where the fracture is?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t know for sure without an x-ray, but I think you may need crutches to help get around. I have a cane you can use for now.” He stands and goes into another room down the hall. He returns with the cane.

Dean braces himself, because here it comes. Master has a weapon in hand and no reason not to use it. He’s encouraged Dean to be bold today but maybe that was a trick. Master Alastair played lots of tricks.

He hands the cane to Dean.

He actually hands Dean a weapon. If Dean wanted to, he could hit Master and run, or limp, away. He frowns. “Actually I don’t like the idea of you putting weight on that leg.”

“It’s all right, sir,” says Dean. “I had it in the cast for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three wee—That’s not nearly long enough. Sit down. Jesus. I should have asked you more questions sooner.”

Dean sits quickly in the chair.

Master disappears again.

Dean waits for him to come back. He holds on tight to the cane.

Master returns with a bundle of supplies. “This will have to do for now. I’ll take you to my office in the morning.” He makes a splint around Dean’s leg. “I doubt the cane will help you. I can carry you though.” He moves to take the cane away and Dean flinches. “Or, you can keep it, just in case.” Without missing a beat, he stands then pulls Dean from the chair and into his arms. He carries him down the stairs and puts him back on the couch. He fusses around with Dean’s leg, making him sit sideways so he could prop his leg.

He leaves again and returns with an ice pack. He rests it on Dean’s leg. “I’ll be back with sandwiches,” he says. “I think that will be easier to feed you.” He goes to the kitchen.

Dean hears him looking around and apparently making food. He thinks he must be dreaming. This Master is kind and treating him like he matters. But he doesn’t matter.

When John sold him, they were in debt by $50,000. He sold for $60,000. It was enough to get John and Sam out of debt and off the streets.

In some states, it’s legal to sell a person at 16, in others the age is 18. In Kansas it was 16, so when Dean was old enough, he and John talked it over and agreed Dean would make up for their debt and give Sam the chance at a better life.

John said he would find him one day. Buy him back. But that was almost 20 years ago.

Castiel returns with a plate in his hand. He’s got a cut up peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it. He sets it on the coffee table then sits between it and Dean. He hands Dean a slice.

It’s the best thing Dean’s eaten in weeks. He closes his eyes.

“Eat slowly,” says Master. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

Dean nods and chews slower.

Whatever happens next, Dean’s sure he’s not ready for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Master Castiel helps Dean eat the entire sandwich and he drinks water with a straw.

“Would you like another?”

Dean shakes his head. He’s not full but he feels too guilty to keep making Master feed him.

Master returns the plate to the kitchen.

Dean should wash it. But Master clearly doesn’t want him to move.

He returns. “How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Really good,” answers Dean.

Master points to the space he was sitting in before when he was practically feeding Dean. “May I?” he asks.

“Sir?” asks Dean.

“Is it all right if I sit here? Or is that too close?”

“Sir,” says Dean, “you don’t have to ask me that. You can sit anywhere. If it’s too close but that’s where you want to sit, then I can move.”  
“I, um,” he rubs his arm. “I would like to sit close to you, if that’s all right.”

“You really don’t have to ask.”

“I will always respect your boundaries,” says Master.

“I don’t think I have boundaries.”

Master looks sad for just a second. He sits beside Dean. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asks.

“No, Sir.”

He lifts a hand and places it in Dean’s hair. He rubs his thumb back and forth. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

Dean’s crying. Again. The last person to touch his hair like that was his mother. She died in childbirth. The touch takes him to a warm place with warm smiles and soft kisses. It takes him to a safe place where no one can steal his memories and make him hate his life.

Master pulls away. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can stop.”

“Please,” whispers Dean, “don’t.”

He was four. She died when he was four. He didn’t blame Sam, but John did. He tried to hide it but Dean’s pretty sure that was the fire that fueled his drinking.

Suddenly, Cas starts humming. It sounds familiar but Dean can’t place it.

“Dean?” he asks after a few minutes.

“Hm?” asks Dean, half asleep.

“Do you know about the abolitionist movement?”

“No,” answers Dean.

“It’s a group of people who are against slavery.”

Dean’s eyes snap open and he looks at Master.

“They believe it’s wrong to be sold into slavery, even if you go willingly.”

“I went willingly,” says Dean.   
“Let me rephrase. It’s wrong to force people to pay off debts and loans by becoming slaves. It’s wrong to own a person.”

“It saved my family,” says Dean quietly.

“You saved your family,” says Master. “Abolitionists believe everyone has the right to debt forgiveness if they live below a certain poverty line. We’ve been fighting for years to end slavery. I’m an abolitionist, my mother and father were abolitionists, as were their parents.

Dean watched his face carefully to see if this was a joke or a fairy tale or something else.

“Just recently the Abolitionists won and the law allowing slavery was overturned. The change go into effect this year. In one month, actually.” He was still petting Dean’s hair. “I am part of a volunteer program that rehabilitates former slaves. There are thousands of us all across the country.”

There were thousands of people like his new master? He doubted that very much.

“We each agreed to foster a slave until they can get on their feet and be independent.”

Dean thinks he’d rather die. He doesn’t know how to be independent. But on the other hand, to be free. The idea scares him so much, fills him with more hope than he can stand. And he can’t hope. It will kill him to float away with hope only to be shot back down to reality.

“Do you understand what that means?” he asks.

Dean shake his head. He needs it spelled out for him because what it sounds like Master is saying is that Dean will be a free person, legally, in one month.

“You’ll be free soon,” says Master. “That will be law. But until then, as long as you live with me, you’re a free man. You are not a slave or servant. You are a guest in my home.”

This is the meanest trick anyone has ever played on him. It’s going to break him this time.

“Does that make sense to you?” asks Master.

This master is sadistic. He likes to play mind games like Master Alastair but he’s much smarter, like Master Michael. Dean knows whatever’s coming is going to be worse than anything he’s experienced before. He decides he has nothing left to lose, so he honest.

“Honestly, Cas,” he says, “that doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“What confuses you?”

“Nothing. I just don’t believe you.”

“Oh,” says Master. “But why would I lie to you?”

“Get my hopes up.”

“But that would be,” he pauses before the word, “cruel,” he finishes.

He looks so disturbed Dean almost changes his mind and believes him.

“What can I do to make you believe me?”

There’s nothing he can do. Dean’s not going to believe him. He can’t afford to. It will kill him to believe this lie. Dean closes his eyes.

“Oh,” says Master, “I can show you.” He leaves Dean’s side and returns quickly with a computer. Then he sits on the floor with his back to Dean so Dean can look at the screen over his shoulder. He props the computer on his thighs and searches “abolition movement USA.” 

It doesn’t matter what happens next because dean doesn’t know much about computers. This could be a program that Master created to look like the internet. Then again, this man would have to have planned a lot out in advance. Maybe he was just that sadistic.

He turns his head slightly to look back at Dean. “Can you read?” he asks.

Slaves aren’t supposed to read. “No,” Dean lies.

“Ah, well that’s all right. I’ll tutor you. In the meantime, I’ll read to you.” He begins some article about slave rights and how it’s illegal and against the constitution. 

Dean’s never heard such nonsense. Slaves don’t have rights and if it was against the constitution, how did it happen in the first place. And who cares? Do slave owners really care that their fuck-toys are unconstitutional? And if there is a group of people who give a shit, why is he just now hearing about it? He decides to end this here and now. He’s not going to let this Master mess with his head. “Sir,” he says, “I’ve been a slave for a long time, but I would have heard about this before I was sold.”

“I doubt it,” says Master. “It’s just become a mainstream movement in the last ten years. There have always been abolitionists, but it was more underground.” He craned his head back again. “Do you think I’m lying to you?” he asks.

“I’m sorry,” says Dean quietly. He tears his gaze away from Master and looks down.

“It’s all right,” says Master. “Thank you for telling me. Now I know you need some more convincing.” He goes to another site. This time he pulls up a video.

A woman is talking about the abolitionists. She’s saying slaves will soon be free people and their debts will be forgiven.

That’s a little harder to disprove. He’s not sure how Master would fake a news report.

Master tilts his head back. “See?” he asks.

At least Dean has a reason to cry this time. He’s jaded and broken, and he knows better than to believe but this; this could be true.

“I have a friend who is part of the movement. She’s a psychologist and she’s very kind. I asked her to come over tomorrow and interview you.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means. “Yes, sir,” he says. But then again if this man is telling the truth, maybe Dean can say what he’s thinking. “Sir? Um, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Why is she going to interview me?”

“While I can diagnose your physical injuries, she can diagnose your mental injuries.”

“Mental injuries?”

“You were brutally manipulated and mistreated for over a decade. I’m sure you have PTSD. You might need therapy or medication.”

“Not pills,” says Dean quickly. That’s what this is. It is a ploy to get Dean to willingly take pills. This Master is a doctor. He probably plans to modify Dean in some way, too.

Master folds the computer shut and places it on the coffee table. He turns back to Dean and threads his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Why not pills, Dean?”

Pills made him do crazy things. They made him pliable, wiling, needy. They made him beg for things he’d never want sober. They made him stupid and made him behave like a different person.

Master retrieves a tissue from the table with his free hand. He dabs Dean’s tears.

“Bad things happen when I have to take pills,” says Dean.

“Dean,” says Master. “You are safe now. I’m not going to use you for sex. I’m not going to force you to do tasks for me. I’m not going to hurt you. Ever. In fact,” he pulls his hand away, “I won’t even touch you unless you ask.”

“I,” begins Dean.

“Yes?” He looks so hopeful.

“I liked your hand in my hair,” he says.

Master resumes petting his hair. “Would you like to go to bed?”

Dean nods. He’s not sure how he’s stayed awake this long.

“I’d like to offer to carry you to your bed,” says Master.

“I can walk,” says Dean.

“Would you let me put you in a wheelchair and take that up the stairs? Then I won’t be touching you.”

“Oh, It’s not that.”

“What is it?”

“Masters don’t carry slaves.”

“I’m not your master.”

“You are for another month.”

One month. One month to figure out how to be human again. One month before he could leave on his own and find his father and brother. One month to wonder why they never found him, if they even made it.

“It would bring me great comfort if I could help you up the stairs.”

“I don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for me today,” says Dean. “I think, if you hadn’t been there to buy me, they were going to just shoot me.”

“What?” asks Master. “That’s murder.”

Dean shrugs. “Slaves are easy to kill.” Suddenly it dawns on him how they’re sitting. Dean is lying on the couch with his leg propped up, under a warm blanket, having just eaten, while his master kneels on the floor and strokes his hair.

He bursts out laughing.

Then Master stops petting him. He pulls away and sits back.

Dean flinches hard. He doesn’t mean to jump like that, to give away how on edge he is.

“Oh,” says Master. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I was just readjusting my position.” He threads his fingers back into Dean’s hair. “See? It’s ok.”

Shit. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“What were you laughing at before I scared you?” asks Master.

Dean closes his eyes. “The way we’re sitting, sir. It’s almost like I’m—” He cuts himself off.

“Oh, as if you’re the master and I’m serving you?”

Dean nods. He hears Master chuckle.

“That’s actually a very good sign that you’ve retained a sense of humor,” he says.

“I must be dreaming,” says Dean.   
“Will you consider letting me carry you?”

“Sure,” answers Dean, opening his eyes. “You basically fed me. Why not carry me?”

Master—Cas stands then picks him up quickly and carefully. He carries him upstairs easily which is probably somewhere between a testament to his strength to a reflection of how little Dean currently weighs.

He takes Dean to the room he’d shown him before. This time, understanding this is his, he takes a moment to really appreciate the space. It is a large room with a high ceiling. It is painted pale blue and has dark blue black-out curtains. The windows are large and there are two of them.

Cas tucks him into bed.

The comforter and pillows are white and gray. It is the softest bed Dean has ever slept in.

Cas props his leg again. He sits on the edge of the bed beside Dean. He lifts his hand, then quickly puts it back at his side.

Dean wants to tell him to please, God, touch him in that nice, soft way. Please touch him and let him know he’s not too stained and broken for this beautiful world. Please don’t make him ask to be touched. Please understand that he can’t ask. He can’t beg. Not anymore.

Cas frowns. “May I touch you?” he asks quietly, like it’s a secret between them.

“Yes,” answers Dean, then he adds, “please.”

Cas returns to stroking his hair.

Dean decides to give in. If he breaks, this will be the nicest way he’s ever been broken.


	3. Chapter 3

He doesn’t remember where he is when he wakes up. Something is restraining his injured leg, or at least he thinks it is. He tries to move it and he jostles the ice pack, then he remembers.

Someone knocks on the door to the bedroom, his bedroom.

He realizes that must have been what woke him up. “Come in,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s really bizarre telling, presumably his master, that he has permission to enter a room in his own home.

Master enters the room. He’s holding a tray with food and drinks. “I thought I’d bring you breakfast in bed,” he says.

Dean has no idea what to do with that, but he sits up and gets comfortable.

Master sets the tray across his lap.

Dean recognizes coffee immediately. Alastair would give it to him if he was too drugged out to function. It never helped.

Master sits on the edge of the bed again. “How are you feeling?”

He aches. His body is sore all over. He thinks the only part of him that feels all right is his leg and that’s only because he can’t feel it thanks to the ice. “I feel good,” answers Dean.

Master frowns.

Does he know it’s a lie? Is it that obvious?

“How does your leg feel?” asks Master.

“Much better,” answers Dean.

“I don’t know if I believe that, but I’ll take your word for it.” He nods to the plate sitting on the tray in Dean’s lap. “Eat breakfast and get dressed. I need to take you in to get that leg looked at.”

“Take me in?” asks Dean.

“To the hospital,” answers Master. “Where I work.”

There are a few reasons someone might take a slave to a hospital. A slight limp isn’t one of them.

Dean eats and he tries not to eat too fast, but the food is hot and good.

Master stays perched on the bed. He talks and helps Dean eat. He puts cream and sugar in his coffee (a noticeable improvement) and butters his toast.

Dean almost laughs, but then he doesn’t. He sits and eats quietly.

When he’s finished, Master takes the tray and leaves.

Dean gets dressed in the time it takes him to return. He’s just tying the laces of a pair of shoes from Master. They’re a bit too small but he doesn’t care because they’re shoes. He can’t remember the last time he’d needed or worn shoes.

“I wish this stupid house had an elevator,” says Master. “Can I carry you?”

“You can do whatever you want,” Dean reminds him.

“ _May_ I carry you?”

“You _may_ do whatever you want.”

“I mean will it make you uncomfortable if I carry you again?” A smile is playing at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want to insult your dignity.”

At that Dean laughs. It feels good to laugh. The sound vibrates through his body and warms him.

Master isn’t laughing though. He’s watching Dean.

Maybe it’s because while he’s laughing, his eyes are blurry with tears. But dignity shouldn’t be funny. It is though. The last time Dean had worried about his dignity, he was tied to a bed frame, drooling with a ball-gag in his mouth. That was even before Michael. That was his first master.

He was young and fresh on the market. He was bright-eyed and ready to work. He was ready to do this for his family. For Sam.

John got the money and hugged him goodbye. Sam wasn’t there. He couldn’t have been there that day.

Dean wasn’t with his first master long enough to learn his name. His first master fucked him hard on the first night, then beat the shit out of him for not knowing how to suck cock. Dean doesn’t remember what the man used to hit him, but he remembers thinking it must have been a device specially made because it hurt like a mother fucker.

He sold Dean after three months.

Master Michael didn’t mind that Dean was untrained. In fact, he seemed to like it. The first night, he tided Dean’s arms behind his back, shoved a plug in his ass, gagged him and forced him to kneel at the foot of the bed all night.

He sold Dean to make a profit. Dean was well-trained by the time he got to Master Alistair. He was only 19 but he knew how to be good.

Master Alastair tested him out in the car. Dean went down in his lap for an hour, used every trick he knew.

Finally, Master Alastair whispered, “If you don’t make me come soon, I’m going to shoot you.”

At the time Dean wanted to live. At the time he still believed his father was going to find him. At the time he still had hope. That was over fifteen years ago.

“Dean?”

He blinks.

Master is kneeling in front of him on the floor.

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s shaking and his cheeks are wet.

“It’s ok,” says Master, softly.

The first night with Master Castiel he’d fed him, told him he was free, and tended to his wounds. Dean never pictured freedom like this. It was supposed to look like his father, not a stranger.

Master reaches a hand up and pets his hair.

Dean catches his hand and holds it in both of his. “Please don’t lie to me,” he whispers.

Master claps his free hand over Dean’s. “I won’t lie to you,” he says.

Obviously, there’s no way to tell if that’s true but there’s something about the conviction in those blue eyes.

“Thank you, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

They stand together and Cas carries Dean downstairs. Dean walks with his cane the rest of the way. It’s a nice day.

“Wow,” says Dean. He stops and leans on his cane. He does it because he’s free.

“What is it?” asks Cas, coming to his side.

“I just haven’t seen the sun like that in a long time.”

“Oh, I have something you’ll love.”

Dean looks at him.

“It’s a surprise.”

Dean gulps. That’s it. That’s the moment he’ll tell Dean this is all a lie.

“What’s wrong?” asks Cas.

“I don’t like surprises,” answers Dean.

“Oh, then I’ll tell you now. It’s a pool. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.”

Dean releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Cas helps him into the front seat of the car and buckles him in again.

“Can I have the window down?” asks Dean.

“Of course,” answers Cas.

Dean rolls down the window. He leans on the door and sticks his head out of the window. He grins. He rides that way the whole 20 minutes to the hospital. When they arrive, Cas helps him out of the car and they enter the building side by side.

Dean scratches his neck. The collar. That’s what’s missing. Dean isn’t legal yet. He’s still property. Cas is going to get in trouble. He stops walking. They’re alone in a hallway.

“What’s wrong?” asks Cas.

“I don’t have my collar,” he hisses.

“I know,” answers Cas.

“Did you bring one with you?”  
“I certainly did not.”

“What if?” he’s not sure about the rest of that sentence.

“What if what?” asks Cas. “What if someone knows you’re a former slave?”

“Not former,” corrects Dean.   
“You’re very hung up on that,” says Cas. “You are legally mine for the next month. I legally get to treat you the way I see fit. I see fit to treat you as a god damn equal.” Cas straightens up. “Besides,” he says, “no one is going to know.”

“I have a mark.”

“No one is going to look for that.”

That’s probably true. Dean calms down a bit. They continue walking. Every person they pass feels like a threat. No one seems to pay them any attention though. They go into an office.

Dean takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” says Cas. “Were you really that worried about it?”

Dean has a hand on his chest.

“Are you all right?”

Dean nods. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Here,” he pulls a chair out for him. “Sit.”

Dean sits.

Cas hands him a bottle of water from the bag he brought with them. “We won’t be here long, I promise.”

Cas is true to his word. The x-ray is over quickly. Cas reads it quickly. They decide it’s too late for a cast, but a crutch and a brace are necessary. Cas and a nurse put the brace on his leg, Cas adjusts the crutches and they’re ready to get back in the car.

It all happened so fast, but Dean is exhausted. He falls asleep on the way home. He wakes up when they pull into the driveway.

Cas helps him out of the car.

Dean tries to let Cas help because he seems to like that. They make their way back inside and Cas collapses in a chair in the living room. Dean stands beside him.

“Are you going to sit?” asks Cas.

Dean forgot he was allowed. “Sorry,” he mutters. He sits on the couch.

“It’s lunchtime,” says Cas. “Are you hungry?” He waves his hand. “I’m sure you’re hungry. I’m hungry. Let’s get something delivered. Any preferences?”

Dean shakes his head. He wonders if it would be all right for him to lay on the couch. He’s not sure.

“How about soup and sandwiches?”

“That sounds great,” says Dean.

Cas messes with his phone then puts it away. “The pool is back that way,” he says, pointing to what must be the backyard. “We can see it later.” He looks at Dean. “I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for today. I didn’t think about it being easier with the collar.”

“What?” asks Dean.

“The collar? I should have prepared you. I don’t give a damn what anyone says to me, but it didn’t occur to me they might say something to you.”

“They might take me away,” says Dean.

“What?” asks Cas.

“They’ll think I’m a runaway and they’ll take me.”

“Why would they take you? They’ll have to turn you over soon.”

“I’m betting,” says Dean, “that a lot of owners will just shoot their slaves before it becomes illegal. Or stab, whatever.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious. Especially old slaves, like me.”

“Old?”

“I’m almost 36,” says Dean.

“I’m ten years older,” says Cas.

“Oh, slave years are different,” says Dean. “Slaves don’t live much longer than 40 or 50.”

“I know but,” he stops.

“You didn’t know we knew?”

“I’m sorry,” says Cas. “That’s stupid of me.”

“It’s all right,” says Dean.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” says Cas.

“Are you being serious?” Dean asks because he can, because Cas says he’s free.

“Very serious. You’ve been so patient and understanding while I bumble around and try to fix things.”

“Oh,” says Dean. He eyes Cas. “Honestly?” 

“Yes, please.”

“I’m so fucking on edge because I don’t know if you’re going to hit me or not. I’m not patient, I’m just anticipating.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” says Cas.

“But do you realize you can just say that and have me believe you until you decide to break me?”

“Charlie will confirm for me.”

“Charlie? Remember I told you I was having someone over today to give you a mental exam?”

“Oh, right.”

“Is that all right? If Charlie comes over? We’ve done a lot today. I could have her over later in the week.”

“Today is fine,” answers Dean. “How should I behave around her?”

“The same as you behave around me. She is also an abolitionist. You are our equal.”

“I don’t get why anyone would willing be equal to a slave.”

“You are equal to us.”

“You keep saying that.”

Cas waves his hand. “That’s all beside the point. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I want you to be able to relax.”

Dean almost laughs again. “I’m probably not going to relax until I’m dead.”

There’s a knock on the door. 

Dean nearly jumps out of his skin.

“It’s ok,” says Cas. “It’s just our food. Remember?”

Dean nods.

Cas gets up and retrieves the food. He sets everything out on the coffee table. “May I sit with you on the couch?” he asks.

“Yes.” Dean answers his ridiculous question.

Cas does something with his phone, then sits next to Dean on the couch. “I just sent Charlie a text. She’ll come over tomorrow instead.”

“Ok.” Dean tries to remember the last time he was relaxed. He instantly thinks of Cas petting his hair, his mother petting his hair. Then he remembers, if he wants that, he has to ask for it.

Cas looks over at him and takes a bite of his sandwich. They eat in silence for a while.

Dean makes it through half a sandwich and all of his soup.

Cas doesn’t punish him for not appreciating the food. He doesn’t hit Dean for saying he can’t relax. He didn’t laugh when Dean was afraid of the knock. Maybe this is real. Maybe Dean is free.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas doesn’t wake Dean up the next morning.

Dean rolls over and checks the clock by the bed. It’s noon. He’s been asleep for 15 hours. He wonders if he missed Charlie. Part of him hopes he has.

He gets dressed in clothes Cas laid out for him and goes to find Cas. He hears voices coming from the living room so that’s where he goes.

He finds Cas sitting in his chair and talking to a woman on the couch.

Cas licks his lips and looks up at Dean. He motions for him to come forward.

For some reason, the gesture triggers something in Dean. He leans his crutch against the wall, goes to Cas and kneels beside his chair. 

Cas is suddenly at his side. “Are you all right? What happened? Did I do something?”

Dean looks up, heat rushing into his cheeks.

Cas helps him stand.

Dean couldn’t explain what happened if he wanted to. Maybe he’s glad to meet Charlie. Maybe she can explain some things.

“Sorry,” says Dean.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” says Cas.

“Hi,” says Charlie. “I’m Charlie.” She’s still sitting on the couch.

Cas eases Dean into the chair and he joins Charlie.

“Is it all right if you and I talk alone?” she asks.

He looks to Cas to see what he should say. Cas looks hopeful so maybe he should say it’s fine. That seems to be the right answer and fuck, he hates it when there’s a right and wrong answer and he has to guess. “It’s all right with me if it’s all right with Mas—Cas.”

“Whatever you want,” says Cas.

It’s not whatever he wants. He doesn’t even know how to want. He wonders how many wrong choices Cas will let him make before he corrects him.

Cas leaves the room.

Dean’s heart jumps. He didn’t really think this through. This woman is allowed to do anything to him.

“So,” she says, “Dean Winchester.”

It’s been an eternity since someone addressed him that way.

“I’m Charlie Bradbury. I’m one of the good guys. I’m sure you’re nervous but I promise I’m not going to do anything against your will.”

Whatever that means.

“I’m going to sit on this couch and ask you a few questions. Is that all right?”

Dean laughs. Free people keep asking him for permission. It must be a fever dream. This is a waking nightmare and he’s going to come to any moment. “Of course, it’s all right,” says Dean.

Charlie smiles. “Is that funny for some reason?”

“Nope, just me being delirious.”

“Why did you kneel next to Castiel earlier?”

“He’ll beat me if I don’t,” Dean deadpans. Inside his mind, it’s hilarious.

“What?” asks Charlie, suddenly getting to her feet.

Dean flinches.

“Castiel,” she shouts.

Cas comes running.

“You beat him?” She shoves him hard.

“What?”

“He said you’d beat him if he didn’t kneel beside you.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You bastard,” she hisses.

Dean is breathing too fast. He realizes this too late.

“I’d never do that,” says Cas.

That’s the last thing he hears before passing out. He wakes up on the couch some undetermined time later. He’s not sure how long he’s been out.

Cas and Charlie are whispering to each other across the room.

“You’ve known me a very long time,” whispers Cas. “You know I would never hurt him.”

“Then why did he say it?”

“I don’t know.”

God. They’re going to interrogate him when he wakes up. He’s suddenly exhausted. Cas is invasive enough. He shivers. “Joke,” he says hoarsely. “Sorry.”

“He has a very dark sense of humor,” explains Cas.

“At least he has a sense of humor. That’s a really good sign,” says Charlie. “Sorry I hit you. Violence shouldn’t be my first instinct.”

Dean sits up. He shakes his head, trying to center himself. “Are you all right, Cas?”

“I’m fine, please lay down.” 

Dean lays down. He doesn’t mean to nod off again. When he wakes up the second time he can hear Charlie and Cas whispering.

“Maybe this was too much,” whispers Cas. 

“Yeah, he hasn’t even had breakfast yet.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“We can try again tomorrow.”

“Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

What the hell is Cas going to do with him all day?

Cas sits on the floor near the couch. “Hello, Dean,” he says.

Alastair liked to use his name, or variations of his name. His tongue would make a wet sound around the “D” in his name. It got to the point Dean started to think it was on purpose. He only did that for the first few years of owning him. After that it became very clear that whenever Alastair screamed a command, it was aimed at Dean.

“Dean?”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” says Cas.

“Sorr—ah—you’re right.”

He leans forward and lifts his hand, then stops. Dean wishes he wouldn’t stop. He wishes he’d keep going. But Cas isn’t going to touch him unless he asks. How does he even ask for that?

“Why did you kneel beside me earlier?”

“You motioned for me to come to you. Mas—Alistair liked it when he didn’t have to use words to command me.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I won’t do that again.”

“It’s not your fault,” says Dean.

“I’m sure there are other triggers like that, but that’s a good one to know.”

“It’s really ok,” says Dean.

“Oh, we haven’t had breakfast yet.” He stands and goes to the kitchen.

Dean can hear him banging around. He realizes, as he relaxes back onto the couch, that he hasn’t done anything to help this master. He hasn’t offered to clean, or cook, or suck his cock. He owes it to Cas to offer. He sits up, finds his crutch and limps over to Cas. “Sir?” says Dean, “Um, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I know I’m old and not much to look at anymore, but I can be good at whatever you need. I can cook and clean, I can work outside, I can work for you personally, in—” his voice falters, “in your room.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Cas, squinting.

“I can work for you,” says Dean.

“No,” says Cas. “You’re free.”

“But I can’t owe you,” says Dean. “I can’t start off in debt.” His hands are shaking. He wants to kneel, get smaller, hide as much of himself as he can.

“Dean, you don’t owe me anything at all,” says Cas. “Actually, I was thinking about it and I think maybe if you met my group.” Cas continues about an abolitionist group Dean could meet when he’s ready.

He doesn’t seem to realize that he keeps casually rebuilding and destroying Dean’s world. Every time Dean thinks he’s got a grip on how this new thing is going to go, Castiel does something to contradict him. Every time Dean is sure there’s a catch or a trade, Cas proves him wrong.

He needs to be good for Cas. He needs to figure out how to give back to him.

Maybe that’s why he agrees to seeing Charlie again tomorrow, and to going to an abolitionist meeting.

“What would you like to do today?” asks Cas as they sit down to breakfast.

Dean wants to sleep. He wants to stay in that nice soft bed as long as he’s allowed.

“I don’t feel like doing much,” says Cas. “How about a movie marathon in the living room? That’s what I like to do when I’m feeling bad. Oh.” He frowns. “But you’re not feeling bad. I’m sorry. I can be so obtuse. You’re recovering from years of trauma and abuse. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all right,” says Dean, because it really is.

Cas shakes his head. He pulls something from his pocket. “Motrin,” he says, shaking the bottle. “Would you like one? I can certainly get you something stronger. I know your back must be aching.”

He slides the bottle across the table.

Dean looks from Cas to the Motrin. He reads the label carefully. It says to take one, so he only pours one into his hand.

“So, you can read,” says Cas.

Dean freezes. Castiel is much smarter than his other masters. Much more patient, too. He is just going to let Dean trap himself.

“Dean?”

“Forgive me, Master,” breathes Dean. He slides from his chair, to the floor. It’s not easy to kneel with the brace but it’s more comfortable than pretending to be a free human.

“Dean, no,” says Cas gently. He appears in front of Dean arms out awkwardly like he plans to hold him.

Dean wants that, but he’ll never ask for it.

“May I?” asks Cas.

Dean nods. Cas can do whatever he wants. He’s got to stop asking.

Cas sets a hand on his shoulder. “What triggered you?” he asks. “Is it that you’re not supposed to know how to read?”

Dean nods.

“I’m very happy you know how to read.”

“Right,” says Dean.

“I mean it.”

“I believe you.”

“But you’re still afraid of me.”

Dean is supposed to be afraid of him. He wonders what the final punishment will be for all this. How much torture has he accrued?

Cas doesn’t torture him. He helps Dean back into his chair.

They finish breakfast and Cas helps Dean to the living room. He walks slowly beside Dean with an arm out just in case Dean needs it.

He makes sure Dean is comfortable stretched out on the couch with his foot propped. Dean isn’t even awake long enough to choose the first movie. He sleeps through most of the day. It’s wonderful.

“We skipped lunch,” says Cas, “but you’re awake in time for dinner. What’s something you really like to eat? Something not boring like what we’ve been eating.”

“I like burgers,” says Dean.

“Perfect,” says Cas. “I’ll place the order.”

It hasn’t escaped Dean’s notice that Cas orders the majority of his food. That’s another sign he has money. It’s another sign that what Cas says is true. Why would he buy a broken slave when he could afford a better one?

They sit in silence for a while.

“I’m very bad at this,” says Cas.

“Bad at what?”

“Taking care of people.”

“Aren’t you a doctor?”

“Yes, but my bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

“You’ve been very kind to me.”

“I can tell you’re still afraid,” says Cas.

“Don’t take that personally,” say Dean.

Their food arrives. Dean makes room for Cas to join him on the couch.

“Thank you,” says Cas.

Dean got something right. He grins and his cheeks get hot. It’s small but it’s something he anticipated correctly.

“I want you to feel comfortable here,” says Cas. “What’s mine is yours.”

“I do feel comfortable,” says Dean. “You feed me every day, you don’t hit me when I’m dumb or wrong. You haven’t tried to fuck me at all. I don’t know what more I could want.”

“You want to be free, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m not really holding on to that hope.”

Cas turns to face him.

Dean flinches. He has no idea how hard Cas can hit.

“I’m sorry,” says Cas quickly, “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” says Dean. “Stupid reflex.”

Cas holds his hand up. “May I?” he asks.

Dean doesn’t really know what Cas is asking but the fact that he asking is still very bizarre. “Yeah,” answers Dean.

Cas threads his fingers in Dean’s hair.

That’s what he was asking about? Cas has permission to do that, he always has permission to do that. Dean will always want this nice, soft touch.

“What’s mine is yours,” Cas says again.

That can’t be true, but it’s a really nice sentiment.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean kind of forgets about Charlie. He forgets even after Cas reminds him. He forgets all the way up until she knocks on the door.

“Dean,” says Cas, “Someone is about to—”

Dean jumps.

Cas flinches.

Dean falls to his knees. They can’t get caught breaking the law. Though what law they’re breaking, he’s not sure. But something about it feels illegal.

“Come in,” calls Cas.

Charlie enters the house.

Dean looks down. 

“Do you mind if I invade your personal space?” asks Charlie.

“No, Ma’am.”

Charlie sits on the floor near him but not touching him and certainly not invading his personal space, not yet.

“I won’t get any closer than this,” she says. “Ok?” 

Dean nods.

“Kneeling isn’t good for your leg—” says Cas.

“It’s ok,” says Charlie in a soothing voice. “If Dean wants to talk from the floor, we can talk from the floor.”

“Talk?” asks Dean. He notices the way Cas gives into Charlie so easily. There’s a power shift in the room.

“That’s what I do,” says Charlie. “I talk to people.”

They’re treating him like a scared child; treating him the way he needed to be treated many years ago. He hates that he’s simple enough for this kind of ploy for trust has any kind of effect on him.

“What do you want to talk about?” He kicks himself mentally. Why can’t he shut the fuck up and listen? Maybe if he listened, he’d have learned his new master by now.

“I want to talk about you,” she answers. “Cas can stay or go. Your choice.”

She seems sincere, like she really wants it to be Dean’s choice. He has nothing to go on.

“Sorry, Mistress,” he says. “I don’t know the right answer.”

“There is no right answer.”

Dean almost laughs again.

“Can you tell me a little about yourself?”

“I have a file, Mistress. I’ve been very honest. I won’t lie to you.”

“I’d like to know things from your life that you think are important.”

Dean treads lightly. “Why?”

“So I can get to know you. We can trade information if that helps.”

Dean glances up at Cas.

“Cas can play too,” says Charlie.

Dean nods.

“I’ll go first,” says Charlie. “Hi, my name is Charlie Bradbury and I’m a psychologist.”

“Hi, My name is—” Cas hadn’t given him a title. “D-Dean,” he stutters. “I’m a w-whore.”

“Oh, Dean,” says Cas.

Dean looks up.

Cas looks like Dean just shot a puppy.

Charlie just bites her lip. “Is that the most important fact about you?” she asks.

It must not be, or she wouldn’t ask.

Dean shakes his head.

“He doesn’t believe he’s free,” says Cas. “You’re not going to get anywhere like this.”

“Thanks, Cas,” says Charlie. “I got this. It’s your turn to share a detail about you.”

“Hi, my name is Castiel Novak and I’m a doctor and an abolitionist.”

“Good,” say Charlie. “My turn. I like to play video games when I’m not working.” She looks to Dean.

He’s already off the hook for that first question. He hopes he doesn’t fuck this up too. “I’m a slave and I will be good for my Master or Mistress.”

“Cas?” asks Charlie. 

Cas sits down on the couch. “Um,” he says, “I love watching old movies.”

“Great,” says Charlie “I have a crush on Princess Leia, but who doesn’t have a crush on Princess Leia?”

“Right?” says Dean.

“Yeah,” says Charlie. “She’s this badass with great aim.”

Dean nods. “I like Princess Leia.”

Charlie smiles. “Cas?”

“I was always a fan of Superman,” answers Cas.

“When I was little, I wanted to be just like Xena: Warrior Princess.” She starts patting her lap and clapping her hands in a kind of metronome.

“I wanted to be a writer,” says Dean. He read about great American authors who lived great American lives. He wanted to do that. He wanted that life. How long ago did he forget that dream? How long ago did he forget any of his dreams?

Alastair used to lock him in the basement in the dark and tell him, when he came back, it would be with a doctor and a scalpel. He’d always change his mind at the last minute, but he’d gone so far as to bring in a friend to play doctor. They ended up taking turns using him.

“I was a grump kid with no friends,” says Cas.

“I’m a grumpy adult with no friends,” says Charlie. 

“You have friends. What about me?” asks Cas. 

“Shut up, it’s Dean’s turn.”

“My last friend was my brother.”

Charlie keeps clapping. “Can you tell me about your brother?” she asks. “Is he also a whore?”

Dean looks up and glares at her. “No,” he says sharply. “He’s a genius and he’s going to be a lawyer.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you looked for him?”

“No.” There were stolen moments when Dean managed to sneak away to use a computer. But they took so much time to figure out, he never made it very far.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know,” answers Dean. He knows it’s because he can’t find out that Sam is that easy to find.

“Have you asked Cas to look for him?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Why do you keep calling me Mistress when Castiel is your master?”

Dean freezes. He waits.

“It’s just a question,” says Charlie.

“That’s a loaded question,” says Cas.

“Is it because you noticed that Cas listens to me? So you assume I’m in charge?”

She’s much smarter than he gave her credit for.

Dean nods.

“But this is Cas’ house and he’s sitting higher than I am.”

“He listened to you, Mistress.”

“If I ask you to call me Charlie, will you do that?”

“Yes, Charlie.”

“Good.” She stops clapping. “That’s enough for today, I think.”

Dean is suddenly exhausted.

Charlie stands and she offers Dean a hand up.

He’s not sure if he’s allowed to take it. But refusing it seems rude, too. He takes her hand.

“I’m really proud of you,” she says. She opens her arms and waits for Dean to hug her.

He does.

She squeezes him gently. “You did a really good job.” She’s careful not to put pressure on his back. Cas must have told her about his wounds.

She leaves and Cas walks her outside. Dean waits on the couch. He knows they went outside to talk about him.

Cas is gone for ten minutes. “You did really well,” says Cas, when he returns.

There doesn’t seem to be any kind of bar for doing good or bad, so Dean doesn’t know how to take that.

“What do you think of Charlie?” asks Cas.

“She’s very kind,” answers Dean. He can say that honestly. She had every opportunity to hurt him, he even screwed up, and she didn’t. He can’t believe he switched to calling her Mistress before Cas greenlit the switch in authority. He’s like a fucking child.

“What are you thinking?” asks Cas. He sits on the floor where Charlie was.

Dean is still on his knees. He looks up at Cas. “I’m thinking about the mistake I made,” answers Dean. “It won’t happen again.”

“You didn’t make any mistakes. I don’t even know what you’re referring to.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say.

“Can we sit on the couch?” asks Cas. “My leg is going to fall asleep like this.”

Dean nods. The he realizes his master asked him for permission and he gave it.

Nothing happens.

Cas gets up off of the floor and offers a hand to Dean.

Dean accepts and Cas helps him hobble to the couch.

“Oh,” says Cas. “You have an eyelash, may I?”

Dean nods, no idea what he means by that.

Cas brushes a fingertip against his cheek. It’s soft and light and Dean almost chases the feeling.

Cas holds his finger out for Dean to see. “It’s tradition that you blow it away and make a wish.”

Dean wishes for Sam to be safe forever. He blows the eyelash away.

“How are you feeling?” asks Cas.

“I’m great,” answers Dean.

“How are you _really_ feeling?”

“Um.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

Dean still aches. His body isn’t accustomed to so much rest. It’s like the pain from the past is finally catching up to him. “I hurt,” says Dean quietly. It’s so stupid that he can be so mouthy sometimes and other times he can’t bring himself to say anything at all.

“Where? Sore muscles? Lash marks hurting? Oh, speaking of which we should change the dressing.”

He gets up before Dean has a chance to answer. He comes back with the first aid kit. “Do you mind taking your shirt off?”

Dean takes his shirt off. It makes his back sting like crazy to move his arms that way.

“Ok, right. Pain,” says Cas. “What is your current all over pain level? From one to ten?”

“I don’t know,” answers Dean.

“Ok, we’ll start smaller. Does your leg hurt?”

“No.”

“Does your back hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Are your muscles sore?”

“Yes.”

Cas motions for Dean to sit with his back to him.

Dean turns around.

“Does your mouth hurt?”

“No.”

“Does your head hurt?”

“I think I have a headache.”

“I’ll get you some more Motrin after I’m done with this.”

He peels away the old bandages. It hurts. It feels like fire and knives. But knowing it’s Cas makes it easier to take and that thought unnerves Dean. He can’t get attached. That would make him too vulnerable. But Cas’ touch is so soft and calming.

“Still doesn’t look infected. That’s good.” He makes a small noise, like a gasp. “I can’t believe they did this to you.”

“Sometimes they don’t stop,” says Dean.

“You mean they whip people to death?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah.”

“Did they do it in front of you?”

“Yeah. It was always as a warning.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner,” says Cas.

“Master Alastair wasn’t ready to sell me sooner.”

Cas finishes the last bandage. “You can turn back around,” he says.

Dean readjusts his position. He wants to ask Cas to sit with him, hold him, hug him like Charlie did. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I think you have a great bedside manner.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT  
> I shouldn't have written this...don't read it.  
> It's after the ***   
> It starts with Azazel   
> Skip it.

Dean spends the next week doing absolutely nothing. Cas keeps saying he’ll have to go back to work soon. Dean never considered that. He doesn’t know what Cas will do with him while he’s away. Probably nothing bad. Maybe he’ll let Dean stay in his room all day and sleep. That would be nice.

He gets brave one day and asks, “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

They’re sitting on the couch together watching an old horror movie. It turns out, Cas is a sucker for horror movies.

“What should I do while you’re at work?”   
“Anything you want.”

“What if I waste the day sleeping?”

Cas laughs. “You’re more than welcome to do that. Once your leg is stronger, you’re welcome to use the pool. In fact, it’s a good way to practice walking without the crutch.”

“But, for real, you’re saying I could sleep all day and you wouldn’t care?”

“Dean, you can do that now. If you want to sleep all day, please feel free.”

He sits back and considers what Cas is actually saying. “What if I didn’t come out of my room for 24 hours?”

“I might knock, just to make sure you were all right, but you can do that.”

“What about 48 hours?”

Cas sits back and crosses his arms. “Also, fine.” A smile plays at his lips.

Dean grins. He doesn’t really know why. Maybe it has something to do with the way Cas has his head tilted to one side. “What about 72 hours?”

“Three days?” asks Cas. “Again, I would check on you, but you are free to spend your time doing anything you want.”

“What about four days?”

“No,” says Cas, still smiling.

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine.

“That’s a joke,” says Cas quickly. “I’m so sorry. I was trying to match your dark humor, but humor isn’t one of my strengths. I’m sorry. I’ve never been funny.”

“Oh,” says Dean, a hand going to his chest.

Cas inhales sharply. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. Take as many days to yourself as you want.”

Is that guilt? It occurs to Dean that Cas hasn’t been terribly emotional. He’s been very empathetic but guarded. This is something that belongs to Cas. This is sincere.

Cas’ eyes start to water. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Cas isn’t going to hurt him. Cas means what he says. Cas feels guilty because he hurt Dean. That must mean he doesn’t want to hurt him. Jesus, it means Dean is really free. Dean’s crying now.

Cas looks horrified.

Dean doesn’t know what to say at this point, but he knows exactly what he wants to do. He sits up and moves closer to Cas. He’s sitting at an awkward angle, but he makes it work. He takes Cas into his arms and holds him.

Dean realizes, if Cas is telling the truth, Dean was about to die. If Cas is telling the truth, then Dean was living his last month on this earth and he didn’t even know it. Alastair was going to shoot him if he didn’t sell. He used Dean as long as possible and waited until the last minute to get some more money out of him. If Cas hadn’t purchased him, Alastair would have fucked him a few more times, then shot him before the law changed.

Cas spent his hard-earned money to free a broken man and give him a second chance at life. Cas isn’t a sadist. He’s a good man who is never going to hurt Dean, and even said as much when they first met.

Cas is trembling in his arms.

Dean holds him tighter.

Cas is a good, honest man.

“Hey,” says Dean, “It’s ok. You made a joke. It was just a joke.” He pushes Cas back so he can look at him. “Jesus Christ Cas, you freed me.”

Cas looks up at him. “You believe me?”

“I do.”

Dean lets go of Cas to wipe the tears form his eyes.

Cas wipes his eyes, too.

“Shit,” says Dean. “I thought—Jesus—I thought you were some new kind of monster. I was ready to die.” Dean laughs. “Meanwhile, you’re just this really nice person trying to get me to trust you.” He’s still crying. “I can’t tell you how fucking relieved I am.” His heart feels so full and fragile right now. He thinks if it broke, he would die.

“It’s ok,” says Cas. “Breathe, Dean. You’re turning pale.”

“Just tell me it’s a lie,” says Dean. “I can take it. I know it’s coming.”

“This isn’t a lie,” says Cas. “Breathe, Dean.”

“This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.”

“What was supposed to happen?”

“My dad,” says Dean, his throat closing up. “He was supposed to buy me back. I owe you everything.”

“No, please listen to me. You believed me a moment ago, why don’t you believe me now?”

“You looked so guilty,” answers Dean. “But it’s so hard to believe someone as kind as you can exist.” He’s suddenly embarrassed by his need. He’s said too much. Sometimes he hates the sound of his own voice.

“Dean?”

Cas is suddenly in his space. “Dean? Can you hear me?”

There’s a hand on his cheek. Dean hates passing out.

“Relax, Dean. Breathe, please.”

He wakes up laying on the couch, again. Cas is sitting on the edge pressing a warm cloth to Dean’s forehead. Dean sits up. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be such a bitch about everything.”

“Hang on,” says Cas. “You might be in shock.” He tests Dean’s eyes, checks his pulse. Then makes him get up and do things like touch his finger to his nose. “All right,” says Cas. “Why did you say you’re a bitch?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you believe me or not?” asks Cas.

“I don’t know.”

“All right, that’s good enough for now.” He takes Dean’s pulse. “Your heart is racing,” he says. “What’s wrong?” He touches a lock of Dean’s hair.

Dean closes his eyes.

Cas pulls away.

“Sorry,” says Cas. “I forgot—”

“Please,” says Dean. “Don’t make me ask.”

Cas immediately returns his fingers to Dean’s hair.

Dean starts to fall back.

Cas helps him. He stops touching him, and fusses over the way their sitting for a moment. He makes sure Dean is lying comfortably before sitting on the edge of the couch. He threads his fingers back through Dean’s hair.

But that’s not enough, for some reason. Dean tugs on his sleeve and pulls him down so he’s lying on Dean’s chest. Then he lets go. He can’t take anything from this man. Even if it is a small moment, it’s still stolen, and Cas is still innocent.

But Cas doesn’t leave right away, so maybe Dean can have this.

Dean closes his eyes.

Cas’ forehead rests against Dean’s.

If Cas can go that far on his own, Dean can go a little farther, though to what end, he doesn’t know. “Cas,” he breathes.

“Yes?”

“Stay.”

“Of course,” says Cas. He nuzzles gently against Dean’s cheek.

Dean turns his head to the side and bares his neck. He’s too easy. He’s always been too easy.

Cas doesn’t push his advantage though. He nestles against the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder.

It occurs to him they should be doing this in a bed. Then Dean realizes what they’re doing. He feels sick. 

“Are you comfortable?” asks Cas.

“Yeah,” Dean lies.

Cas laughs against his chests. “Dean, I can tell by the way you’re breathing, you’re not comfortable.” He sits up. “I don’t know why I bothered asking.”

“You wanted to see if I would lie.”

“Oh,” says Cas, “maybe. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to set you up for a test.”

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I was kind of testing you, too.”

“I guess you were.” His hand is still in Dean’s hair.

“You’re a good person, Cas.”

He doesn’t know why Cas looks like it hurts when Dean says that. Dean sits up. They’re almost nose to nose. “You’re a really good person.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. You saved my life. Alastair was only selling me to see if he could make money before it became illegal to shoot me.”

“I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me they would shoot their slaves.”

“Not all of them,” says Dean. “I think most of them will be freed. I just know Alastair would have shot me rather than freed me. After everything he did, he wouldn’t like the idea that I was free.”

They are still almost nose to nose but neither seems interested in moving.

“You though, I didn’t think people like you existed. I forgot people could be kind. You dropped thousands of dollars on a washed up, fucked up, old slave, just out of kindness.”

“It was my moral duty,” Cas says.

“Bullshit.”

“It was. Saving another human’s life isn’t optional.”

“You spent thousands of dollars.”

“You are worth so much more than money.”

“If that’s true, I can never repay you.”

“I don’t want to be repaid.”

Dean frowns. “Do people take advantage of you?”

Cas pulls back. “What?”   
“Do people take advantage of you. Because you’re so kind.”

“Honestly I don’t know if it’s that or if it’s that I’m a coward.”   
“You seem very brave to me,” says Dean. “You didn’t even put me in a collar to go to the hospital or when Charlie came over. It’s like you don’t care about the law.”

“It’s not against the law,” says Cas.

“It felt illegal.”

“It’s frowned upon, but that’s all.”

“For some people that’s enough,” says Dean. “Plus, you actively opposed the law. You helped change it. I owe you everything.”

Cas frowns. “Will you do me a favor?” he asks.

“Anything,” says Dean, he means it.

“Please don’t ever talk about owing me. You owe nothing to anyone. That’s all.”

“But—”

“Please?”

“Ok,” says Dean. “I don’t owe anything.”

“Good.” That actually seems to make him happy.

***

Dean forgets he agreed to meet the members of Cas’ abolitionist group. Cas tells him he doesn’t have to meet anyone if he doesn’t feel like it. But Cas saved his life and whether Cas likes it or not, Dean is going to give him something back.

“If you get overwhelmed or anything or if someone is asking you too many questions, come straight to me, all right?” asks Cas.

Dean nods.

There are going to be about 10 people over. That’s not a lot in theory but in practice it may be different. Alastair didn’t have a lot of parties. When he did, he’d lock Dean in the basement unless someone wanted to use him.

The guests trickle in. It takes 30 minutes for everyone to arrive. Dean is introduced to more people than he can remember. He knows Charlie and Cas and that’s it.

A man named Bobby introduces himself a second time. “Thanks for meeting us,” says Bobby. “I know it must feel like you’re on parade. I’m sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Dean lies.

Bobby gives him a look. “Well, if anybody bothers you, let me know.”

Charlie says that to him as well.

Then a man named Azazel says it to him and Dean starts wondering who he should be worried about. Cas keeps coming over to check on him, no matter who he’s talking to, but Cas also turns out to be a good host. He makes sure everyone has someone to talk to.

“How long have you been with Cas?” asks Azazel.

“About two weeks,” says Dean.

“Wow,” he says. “Not long.”

Dean shrugs.

“Does Cas have a good space for you?”

Dean cocks his head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“Do you have your own room?”

Dean nods.

“Can I see it?”

“Sure.”

Cas pops up beside him.

“Dean was going to give me a tour,” says Azazel.

“Oh,” says Cas. “That’s right, you’re new. You’ve never been here before.” He waves to Charlie. “I’ll be right back.”

“I can show him,” says Dean.

“Do you want to?” asks Cas.

“Yeah,” answers Dean. “You’ve got people to entertain. I can help.”

Cas nods.

Azazel smiles.

Dean nods to Azazel. “Follow me.” He leads him through the downstairs first. Azazel is interested in the architecture, but Dean isn’t able to answer any of his questions. “I’m sure this is the original flooring,” he says as they explore upstairs.

Dean takes him into his room. He shrugs. “This is it,” he says.

Azazel shuts the door. He locks it.

Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“Hush,” he says, putting a finger to his lips. “Show me you can be good.”

It’s like a trigger. Dean stops moving. Screaming doesn’t even occur to him.

Azazel steps closer. “I’ve never met a real slave before,” he says. “My family was always too poor, and I’ve never needed one.”

Dean zones out. He doesn’t mean to. He didn’t realize he could still do it. Pain has forced him into his body for so long he wasn’t sure if he could find a way out anymore. Alastair figured out that Dean could zone in and out of himself. He hated it. He made sure Dean was always present.

Azazel is petting Dean’s hair. “You obey so well,” he says.

Dean feels himself shivering. He was sure he’d grown out of that.

Azazel takes his free hand and runs it down Dean’s chest. “What will you do?” he asks.

“Anything, sir,” answers Dean.

“Master.”

“Anything, Master.”

Dean zones out again. He feels sick. He detaches. Whoever this man is, he’s unpracticed. He’s telling the truth about not being around slaves. He comes to and Azazel’s hand is in Dean’s pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time Dean got hard when he didn’t want to. He stands very still, or as still as he can while shaking, with his hands behind his back. He’s very well trained but he’s not showing it now. Alastair would punish him for this performance.

Cas wouldn’t though.

Dean remembers. “Stop,” he breathes.

Azazel says something.

Dean gets on his knees. He flies away again.

“Dean,” someone shouts.

Dean’s mouth is suddenly empty.

Azazel is on the floor.

Dean is in Cas’ arms.

Bobby and Charlie come charging in.

Cas turns away and carries him down the hall to the master bedroom.

“You mother fucker,” shouts Bobby.

Cas kicks the door shut. He sets Dean on his bed. “Follow my finger,” he says. He pulls a light from his pocket and shines it into Dean’s eyes.

“I’m ok,” says Dean. He’s shirtless and his pants are undone but he really is all right.

Cas’ nostrils flare. “You are safe in here. Do you feel safe?”

“Yes,” answers Dean.

“I’m going to leave; you lock the door behind me. The code to get back in is Green.”

Dean nods.

Cas leaves.

Dean doesn’t bother locking the door. He goes to the window where the noise is coming from.

A group of people have gathered. It looks like everyone. They’re all outside. Bobby is walking Azazel through the group and Charlie is right behind him. They don’t see Cas coming.

Cas pushes past and tackles Azazel to the ground.

Bobby actually holds people back.

Azazel gets up and tries to run, but Cas is so much faster. He tackles him again. This time, while he’s down, Cas grabs him by the back of his shirt and starts slamming his head into the pavement of the driveway.

That’s when Bobby interferes. It takes Bobby to pull Azazel away. It takes two guys to pull Cas away, plus Charlie standing in front of him. Her hands are on Cas, but her eyes are laser focused on Azazel.

Bobby points to the window.

Cas looks up. He sees Dean. He breaks away from the people holding him back and goes into the house. He opens the bedroom door. “I told you to lock this.”

“I can do what I want,” says Dean. “Remember?”

Cas closes his eyes. “Of course.”

Dean remembers to take a breath. He knows exactly what happened to him but he’s not going to dwell on it. Had Azazel known what he was doing, it could have been so much worse.

Cas is suddenly very close again. “I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry.”

Dean frowns. “Why are you sorry?” He wipes his mouth, checking for drool. This would be only marginally more embarrassing if he was also drooling.

“I know everyone else so well. He’s new to the group but he’s been my personal friend for several months He’s a nurse.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” says Dean. “It’s not your fault.” He recognizes guilt again, but something else too. Something deep and sad.   
“What did he do to you?” asks Cas. “Are you injured?”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ve called the police.”

“Why?”

“To report an assault.”

“They’ll mark it as property damage,” says Dean. “If you press charges you won’t get very much. Maybe half of what you paid for me, but it will be a lot of hassle.”

“I don’t care how much I get.” 

“Then I wouldn’t bother with the police. They’ll drag this out for months.”

“What are you saying?” 

“I don’t think it’s worth pressing charges.”

“He assaulted you,” says Cas. “That was sexual assault.”

“No,” says Dean. “It wasn’t.”

“He forced you—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.”

Cas stares at him. “I saw what happened.”

“What did you see?” asks Dean. “Because you weren’t there for the whole thing.”

“I saw him, and you, and you were—”

“I was blowing him?”

“Yes.”

“His hands were on your head.”

“So?”

“Your hands were behind your back.”

“That’s a common kink.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s not going to get in trouble because he likes to fuck his fleshlight rough.”

Poor Cas. He actually looks horrified.

“I guess he fucked _your_ fleshlight if we’re being metaphorical.”

Cas goes back to looking angry. Then he’s upset again. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“None of this is your fault. Besides, I didn’t fight back so we’re good.”

“What?”

“Damage to a person is much worse than damage to a slave.”

“ _What_?”

“If I’d hurt him, you’d be on the hook for damages. I was good though; you don’t need to worry.”

“Listen to me,” says Cas. “Can you throw a punch?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to throw a punch—”

Dean shake his head. “I can, but they’ll execute me.”

Cas clutches his stomach. He turns pale. 

“It’s ok,” says Dean. He wraps an arm around Cas and leads him to the bed. They sit down. Dean takes Cas’ hands into his. His knuckles are bleeding. Dean holds Cas’ hands up to inspect. They’ve stopped bleeding. Dean kisses the back of Cas’ hands. “Focus on the good.”

Cas searches his eyes. “Nothing about this is good.”

“I believe you,” says Dean. “You know that saying about ‘when a good man goes to war?’”

Cas nods.

“You’re a good man.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean is still shirtless, and Cas seems to suddenly realize it. He jumps up and finds a blanket. He wraps it around Dean. 

“Can you bring me the first aid kit?” asks Dean.

“Of course.” He practically trips over himself on the way out of and back into the room. “What’s hurt?” he asks.

“You, dummy,” says Dean. “Sit.”

Cas is very calm while Dean cleans and bandages his hands. The police have come and gone. No one pressed charges.

“You’re really lucky,” says Dean.

“Why?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You were trying to kill him. According to the law, he fucked your property, and you went straight to murder.”

“I should have killed him. I was trying to think of the fastest way. I knew someone was going to stop me.”

“Wow,” says Dean.

“What?”

“You’re kind of a psychopath.” He kisses Cas’ knuckles again.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

Dean shrugs. “My mom used to do it when my dad would get hurt.”

Cas sighs. “I’m really so sorry. I take full responsibility for this.” 

“You’re lucky he didn’t tell the cops what really happened,” says Dean. 

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah. You know everyone is still here, right?”

“I’m sure Charlie took care of that,” says Cas.

“Is she still here?”

“I doubt it. I shouldn’t have left you alone with a stranger.”

“Stop dwelling on it. Something like that was bound to happen.” Dean frowns. “Wait are you worried about my pride?”

“I’m worried about a lot of stuff.”

It suddenly hits Dean. Cas thinks he’s human, complete with all the trappings of human dignity. He doesn’t know Dean’s just a ghost and maybe that’s all he’ll ever be.

Cas pulls the blanket tighter around Dean. “Let me get you a fresh shirt. Are you all right while I’m gone?”   
Dean nods.

Cas leaves. He’s gone for maybe 30 seconds. They bought clothes for Dean online. Dean explained that it was pointless because he was going to fill out if Cas kept feeding him. He warned him the sizes would be all wrong and it was a waste of money. Cas insisted. So now Dean has his own clothes in his own room.

Cas comes back with a plain white shirt. “Here,” he says. He fusses with the blanket while Dean puts the shirt on and buttons his pants. He sits on the bed beside Dean.

“I’m ok, Cas.”

“You were just attacked.”

“That’s the first normal thing that’s happened since I met you.” 

“That was not normal.”

“It was for me. Hell, he was even kind of gentle.”

Cas shudders.

“I think it was his first time,” continues Dean.

“Stop.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Dean, please.”

“Man, I can’t believe I said ‘stop.’” Dean laughs. “I said it like I have any right to stop him. Like that was going to do anything.”

“Dean,” says Cas. “If something even remotely close to that happens again, I want you to remember that for the rest of this month, you belong to me.”

Dean sits up straight.

“No one is allowed to touch you, unless I say so.”

“Ok,” says Dean.

Cas is serious. “If someone touches you in any way that I haven’t approved, you must come find me. Call my name if you have to but get me to you as fast as you can.”

“That’s an order?”

“That’s an order.”

“He touched my hair first.” It’s more of a confession than anything else.

“Scream for me,” says Cas. He lifts his hand and touches the spot where Azazel touched him. “Next time you’re alone with a stranger or group of strangers, scream for me and I’ll come to you.”

Dean leans his cheek into the palm of Cas’ hand.

“The next time you’re scared, the next time you’re uncomfortable. As soon as you don’t like what’s happening, call my name.”

Dean nods, closing his eyes. “You’re going to stay within earshot of me for the rest of your life?”

“If I have to.”

Dean reaches out and touches Cas’ chest. “Azazel touched my chest.”

Cas sits still.

“Is this easier for you because you’re not attracted to me?” asks Dean.   
  
“I—what do you,” says Cas.

Dean licks his lips. “Sorry, never mind.”

“No, what did you mean?”

“I was just thinking that it might be harder if you were interested in sex.” 

“I’m interested in sex.”

“With me?”

“Um—I don’t know.”

Dean runs his hand down Cas’ chest. “I know men can’t control themselves.”

“You’re a man and you can control yourself.”

“Free men,” corrects Dean.

“That’s only true of bad people. Bad people choose not to control themselves.”

Dean’s hand pauses in the center of Cas’ chest. 

Cas is still watching Dean. “Moral people, empathetic people, don’t force themselves on others.”

Dean’s hand moves a little farther down. He’s watching Cas now. He plays with the button near the bottom of Cas’ shirt.

Cas licks his lips.

Dean moves a little closer on the bed. He doesn’t understand what’s possessed him to act like this, like sex is something he can take. He’s not free. He can’t have this.

“What do you need?” asks Cas. 

Dean drops his hand. He doesn’t need anything.

Cas catches it. He puts it back on his chest, over his heart. “What do you need?” he asks again.

Dean needs to take.

Cas is sacrificing himself for Dean’s well-being. Something was taken from Dean today. Azazel isn’t going to give it back. Alastair won’t give it back. Michael won’t give it back. No one is going to give it to him, but Cas.

Dean needs blood and Cas cut a vein for him.

Cas starts to unbutton his shirt and Dean doesn’t stop him.

Overshirt gone, undershirt now.

Dean looks at Cas through his eyelashes.

Cas bites his lip.

Dean’s fingertips move to where the hem of Cas’ shirt meets his pants.

Cas whips the shirt off over his head.

Dean moves closer. He doesn’t have to be naked if he doesn’t want to be. Free men keep their clothes on.

Dean takes his hands away and starts to undo his jeans.

Cas stops him. He unbuttons Dean’s jeans and pulls down the zipper. He’s practically in Dean’s lap. He looks up.

Dean tilts Cas’ chin up. They kiss. He holds Cas by his shoulders and pulls him with him as he falls back against the bed.

Cas is on top of him, kissing, licking, fingers lost in Dean’s hair. “Dean,” he says, between kisses, “I don’t want you to do this because you feel obligated.”

Dean breaks away from him. “What do you mean?” 

“If we—I just don’t want this to be an act of gratitude.”

“Gratitude?”

“You keep talking about owing me. I don’t want this to be payment.”

“You think I can’t think of other ways to pay you back?”

“No, not at all.”

“You think I can only fuck my way out?”

“Dean, please.”

“I’m joking, Cas.”

Cas drops his head to Dean’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” says Dean.

Cas kisses his neck. “I hope you think you’re funny.”

“I think I’m adorable.”

He feels Cas grin against his skin. It makes his stomach flutter.

Cas kisses his way down Dean’s body. He stops at Dean’s lap. He looks up at Dean. Hesitantly, he palms Dean’s erection. He frees Dean’s cock from his boxers. He lowers his head.

This is a first. Dean’s never been on the receiving end of a blowjob. He’s never had control before.

Cas sucks his cock and Dean’s stomach flips.

He lets out a shaky breath.

Cas puts both hands behind his back. He takes Dean deep into his throat.

Dean comes quickly. Embarrassingly quick. He comes down Cas’ throat. Cas licks him clean and Dean almost comes again. He hasn’t come in years. Alastair used to “play a game” where Dean would be fucked until he came untouched.

Depending on the mood Alastair was in, it could be extremely painful, and it could last hours. He almost doesn’t notice Cas has left. He went into the adjoining bathroom.

Dean hasn’t come because he wanted to since, maybe never. He’s trying to think back. He didn’t come the first time he was fucked. It was a week before it stopped being purely painful.

Cas returns. He’s brushed his teeth.

Dean grins.

Cas gets back into bed.

Dean lays beneath him.

Cas leans down and kisses him. His tongue slides against Dean’s lower lip, like he’s tasting him. He’s never been kissed like this before. As if the kiss was an offering for Dean to accept or deny. It was always done to please Master. It was always a kiss for Master. A way to make something violent seem gentle.

But Cas is already gentle. He doesn’t need to kiss Dean. He doesn’t need to stoke his hair.

“Since feeling is first,” whispers Cas, “who pays any attention, to the syntax of things, will never wholly kiss you.” He presses his lips against Dean’s neck. “You remind me of poetry,” he says. “Wholly to be a fool, while Spring is in the world. My blood approves, and kisses are a better fate than wisdom.” He kisses Dean’s neck. “A poem, since feeling is first, by ee cummings.”

“Jesus, Cas.”

“What?”

Dean doesn't answer. Cas loves him. Cas is in love with a slave.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean spends the night in Cas’ bed. When he wakes up the next morning he can’t figure out if he regrets what he’s done. He’s a sex slave, maybe for a reason. Maybe sex is all he was meant to know. Maybe since he knew sex so young, it was all he’d ever know.

He’d meant what he’d said when he told them he was a whore.

But at the same time, he’s never experienced sex like this before. Cas made him feel almost virginal. He runs his fingers through his hair.

Cas stirs from where he’s nestled in the covers beside him. His hand moves, searching the sheets for something. When it lands on Dean, Cas makes a noise, and wiggles closer. “May I?” he mumbles.

“Yes,” answers Dean.

He lays against Dean’s chest like it’s a pillow. “Good morning,” he mutters.

They changed into boxers in the middle of the night. It was all Dean felt like wearing and apparently Cas was the same way. Skin to skin contact usually makes Dean nauseous but this is just warm and comfortable.

“I never took care of you,” says Dean, still a little groggy.

“What do you mean?” Cas asks.

“You got me off last night, but I didn’t return the favor.”

“Trust me,” says Cas, “I’d rather take care of you any way I can than have you take care of me.” He looks up at Dean and bites his lip. “Would you like me to take care of you again.”

“You’ve done plenty,” says Dean. He doesn’t know how Cas likes his blowjobs. Dean knows a pretty standard technique. Alastair would just pull his hair or choke him if he did something that was too repetitive, or made him come too soon, or took too long. He liked to grab Dean by the throat and whisper “You stupid, ugly, bitch.” Sometimes he’d slap Dean and make him repeat it.

“I’m a stupid, ugly, bitch.”

He also liked to make Dean beg to breathe.

“Dean?” asks Cas.

“Yeah?”

“You go away sometimes.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Oh, right.”

“Where do you go?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Do you flashback?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t talk much.”

Dean looks down at where Cas is still half-asleep against him.

“People tell me I don’t talk much,” say Cas.

“I think you talk enough,” says Dean.

Cas laughs.

“I don’t mean it like that. I mean you talk a good amount.” 

“I talk more around you than anyone else in the world,” says Cas.

“Why?”

“I worry.”

“About?”

“You.” He looks up and props an arm under his chin. “I worry you’ll think I’m mad or upset or something.”

“I thought you were like, this really evil mastermind.” Dean chuckles. “I didn’t know what you were going to do to me.”

“What made you think I would trick you like that?”

“It’s just something masters do.”

“That’s not normal human behavior.”

“It’s normal for a slave-owner.”

Cas brushes a lock of hair from Dean’s face. “What did they do to you?” he asks softly.

“A lot.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but I thought it might help to talk about it.”

“I never knew my first master’s name,” says Dean. “He got me when I was 16 and fresh on the market. He tried to train me, basic stuff. My first night with him was probably the worst. He didn’t have time for tears or regret.”

“You were 16?”

“Yeah. He sold me pretty quickly to Michael. He liked training me,” says Dean. “He did a great job,” he adds darkly. He tries to steer away from anything Cas might find too horrifying. None of it is really that bad said out loud. They beat him, they took his food, they fucked him, they said mean shit.

The meanest thing anyone ever did was when Alastair found out about Sam and John from Dean’s paperwork. The first time he used them against him, he pretended to get furious. He told Dean a man named John Winchester bought him.

Alastair had packed a bag for Dean and put him on the front porch and told him to wait for John. Dean waited all day.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You trailed off.”

“I got lost in thought.”

“What else?”

Dean eyes Cas. “Alastair found out I had family,” he answers. He tells Cas about waiting for John and how he was punished afterwards for “thinking about escaping.”

“That’s terrible,” says Cas.

Dean closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what possesses him to keep talking. “The worst ones were Sam. He used to tell me he had a special alert for when another boy like me came on the market. He’d make me get in the car with an extra collar and he’d say we were going to get Sam.”

“Oh, Dean.”

“Sometimes we’d drive for hours, and I’d sit there the whole time thinking Sam was living the same fucked up life I was.” He runs a hand over his face. “I fell for it every time, too.”

“Can I kiss you?” asks Cas. 

“Yes. And you don’t have to ask to touch me. That’s nice, but I think it’s pretty clear you’re not going to hurt me.”

Cas kisses him. He sits up and looks at Dean, as if making a decision. He turns and points to the back of his neck.

Dean inhales sharply. He didn’t notice it before. The slave mark blends in with his hair but it’s very clearly present.

Cas turns back around.

Dean is speechless.

“I was very young when my family was freed,” he says. “I don’t remember much of it.”

“You said you come from a long line of abolitionists,” says Dean.

“I do. Aren’t you an abolitionist?”

“Oh,” says Dean. “Well yeah, but that’s not what I thought you meant.”

“The man who owned us loved my mother. When he died, he left us enough money to buy our way back to freedom.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” asks Dean. “I would have trusted you a lot sooner.”

“Would you really?”

Dean thinks about it for a minute. “I guess not.” He would have been just as paranoid, and he would have assumed the mark was fake.

“Besides,” says Cas, “I don’t know if I can really claim it since I never experienced it.”   
“You can claim it,” says Dean. “If they marked you, you can claim it. Can I touch it?”

“Yes, of course.”

Dean runs his fingers over the scar. It’s a simple mark. Just a zero with a line through it. It’s enough to remind everyone that the person they’re looking at amounts to nothing. No one should be born into that.

Dean leans in and presses his lips to the mark. It’s strange, kissing someone by choice. He shivers as he pulls away.

“I have a question,” says Cas, turning back around.

“Shoot,” says Dean.

“Would you like help looking for your brother and father?”

Dean means to answer, he really does. But the question catches him by surprise. He’d thought about looking for them, but not in any real-world sense.

“Dean?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to. It was just a thought.” After a pause, he adds, “We can look for just one of them if you want.”

It’s like Cas can read his mind. “I don’t know if I can find one without the other,” says Dean.

“If we found both of them would you only want to see one?” asks Cas.

“I don’t know,” answers Dean.

“Your father sold you, right?” asks Cas.

Dean nods.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to find him,” says Cas.

“I want to see him, though.”

“We can find your brother first. Your father doesn’t have to know where you are.”

“How would we do that?”

“We can meet your brother somewhere out of town. Not tell him where we live. Don’t give him any contact information.”

Dean thinks for a moment. “What if we find him, and we don’t contact him yet?”

“We can absolutely do that.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cas sits down on the couch with his laptop. “Sam Winchester, right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” answers Dean.

“Let’s check social media first.”

Dean knows enough about technology to know that he is clueless when it comes to the internet.

Cas is patient though. He shows Dean how to work the touchpad and open tabs and conduct a basic search. Cas does most of the work, but he lets Dean type in Sam’s name.

Dean is perched on the edge of his seat watching over Cas’ shoulder when it happens. In an instant Dean is thrown from his new-found comfort back into his past. The sky is darker than it should be. He should have seen it coming. The sound of the storm puts him on edge, but he tries to hide it.

The first boom of thunder sends Dean to his knees. He covers his head and starts to beg.   
_Whore_.

Cas is on the floor with him. Dean knows because he feels someone beside him, feels a hand on his back.

“Dean?” asks Cas.

Dean can’t look up at him. As long as he stays on the floor, Cas can’t make him leave.

“Dean?” A little louder this time.

“Please,” says Dean. It’s all he can say, over and over again, it’s the only word that comes to mind. Alastair loved to make him beg. Sometimes it worked and he’d give in. That gave Dean hope that next time, begging might work again.

So Dean begs.

“It’s ok,” says Cas. “You’re safe, remember?”

He remembers. His stomach is full, and his back and leg don’t ache so much. But then thunder booms again and he can’t bring himself to lift his head.

“It’s just a storm,” says Cas.

“Please,” Dean whispers into the fibers of the rug. “Please.”

“Please what?” asks Cas.

“Please, Master.”

“That’s not what I meant. Can you look at me?”

Dean doesn’t answer. He just begs.

“Dean,” says Cas.

He hears the change in his tone. He hears his name go from a question to a command.

“Look at me.”

Trembling, Dean uncovers his head. He takes himself through each step of uncurling from the petrified ball on the floor, to something that resembles a well-trained slave. Alastair would have loved this. Dean’s shaking like a leaf and he can’t stop crying. He finally looks at Cas.

Cas’ expression is not hard and judging like he’d expected. It’s not gleeful at the idea of causing pain either. He looks concerned. “What’s going on?” he asks.

Dean searches his eyes for understanding. “Please,” he breathes, “don’t put me outside.”

Cas’ lips part and his eyes widen like he can’t believe what Dean just asked for.

“I’ll be good,” says Dean.

Cas repositions himself so he’s sitting cross legged. He pulls his hand back. “I’m not going to put you outside,” he says softly.

Thunder and lightning rip the sky apart.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. He’s overreacting. He knows he’s overreacting.

“Can you take a deep breath?” asks Cas. “I’m worried you might hyperventilate.”

Dean hyperventilated in front of Alastair once. He’d passed out in the car on one of their trips to find Sam. He’d woken up in a strange bed with a strange man who claimed to be his new master. Alastair didn’t come back for him for a week. The man liked to fuck him in silence with nothing but the wet sound of sex to help him escape.

“Can I have your hand?” asks Cas.

Dean extends his hand.

Cas doesn’t yank or pull. He takes Dean’s pulse and nods to himself. “Maybe we should get you a smartwatch. It might help detect panic attacks.”

Dean gulps.

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“Your house,” answers Dean quietly. 

“And what is happening?”

“You’re checking my heart rate.”

“Good.”

There’s always a right answer.

“Now,” says Cas, “where are you in your head?”

“Alastair.”

“And what’s happening?”

“I’m outside.”

“Alastair is making you stay outside?”

Dean nods.

Cas gets up.

Dean curls back in on himself.

Cas returns with the comforter from Dean’s bed. He drops it on the floor and leaves again. This time he comes back with a folded sheet. He drops it on the floor with the comforter. He starts collecting cushions and pillows from the living room.

Dean closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again until Cas clears his throat. He sees Cas kneeling in front of him first.

“Can you stand?” asks Cas. “It’s just for a little bit. We’re just going over there.”

Dean follows his finger. He’s pointing to a pile of pillows with the sheet draped over them. He stands before another round of thunder can send him to his knees.

Cas ushers him over to the pillows. He gets on the floor again and disappears into the pile.  
Dean follows him, curiosity winning out over terror. It’s a blanket fort. There are pillows on the floor and Cas is already getting underneath the comforter.

Cas pats the spot beside him.

Dean goes to him and buries himself under the covers.

“Better?” asks Cas.

Thunder roars again and maybe it’s Dean’s imagination but the cushions seem to keep out a lot of noise. He finally lets out a deep breath.

“Good,” says Cas. “Keep breathing deeply.”

“I’m sorry,” says Dean.

“Just breathe for now,” says Cas.

“Can I get under the covers?” asks Dean.

“Of course,” says Cas. “I think I’ll join you.”

Dean hides his head under the comforter and so does Cas. It’s warm and dark and quiet. Dean doesn’t remember the last time he was surrounded by this much softness. He doesn’t mean to curl closer to Cas but his body is searching for—something.

Cas opened his arms and let Dean lay against his chest.

“He used to handcuff me to the flagpole in the backyard,” says Dean quietly.

“In the rain?” asks Cas.

“Yeah. Nothing ever happened. I’d just get scared.”

Cas squeezes him gently. “You are safe here.”

“I know. I don’t know why I panicked.”

“You’re scared,” says Cas. “It’s ok to be scared.” He kisses the top of Dean’s head.

Dean nuzzles against him. “Thank you,” he says.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand where he’s holding it against his chest.

Dean flinches when a bolt of lightning strikes like a gunshot and the sound penetrates the pillow fort.

“Remember to breathe,” says Cas.

“Sorry,” says Dean.

“For breathing?” asks Cas.

“No. I’m sorry you have to…coddle me.”

“If I were coddling you I would be watching you more closely.” He stops.

Dean almost hears the rest of his thought.

“I should have been watching you more closely,” he says.

“Are you thinking about Azazel?” asks Dean.

“I’m just so sorry that happened to you.”

“I told you, that was normal for me. I’m not upset about it.” It seems like it happened a long time ago, but Dean thinks it was just yesterday. “I told you, I’m a whore. It’s what I do.”

“You said you told him to stop.”

Dean closes his eyes. “I did,” he says.

“Then you knew it wasn’t something normal. You didn’t want it to happen.”

“If we’re counting every time I had sex without wanting it to happen we’re going to be here for a while.”

Cas hugs him to his chest. “That’s awful,” he says.

“It only cost me my dignity. That’s not worth much to begin with.”

“It cost more than that. You don’t think you’re worth much and you keep calling yourself a whore.”

“I am a whore. Literally. I am the literal definition of a whore.”

“You are a human being and you deserve love and respect just like everyone else.”

“I gave that up when I chose to be a slave.”

“But you didn’t choose. Your father sold you.”

“Yeah, but I agreed to it. It was our decision.”

“You were a child. He shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“He did it to save our family,” says Dean.

“You cannot choose one child over another,” says Cas.

“He chose our family.”

“Dean, he _sold_ you.”

“He didn’t have a choice.”

“He could have sold himself,” says Cas.

“He was too old,” says Dean. “No one was going to buy him.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Dean is silent.

“I’m not trying to start a fight,” says Cas. “I just want you to understand that these things were out of your control. You are a victim of—"

“I’m not a victim. Winchesters are not victims.”

“But you had no control,” says Cas.

“I made a choice,” says Dean. “I had control. I chose my future.”

“Your father chose your future.”

“It was my idea.” Dean sits up and looks down at Cas. “I knew what I was getting into. I was prepared.”

“If you had a child, would you have sold them? If the roles had been reversed and Sam was the oldest, would you have condoned selling him?”

“It’s not the same.”

“It is the same,” says Cas, sitting up. “You were a child. Your father had no right to do that to you.”

“What else could he have done?”

“You want my honest opinion?”

“Yes.”

“He should have kept the family together. If you stayed in poverty, fine, but he should have kept you all together.”

“But his debt.”

“Then file for bankruptcy. Start over. Or better yet, don’t have kids.”

“You don’t understand,” says Dean. “Maybe you were born into slavery, but you grew up with money. You live with enough money. It wasn’t his fault.”

“Then why don’t you want to see him?”

“He would not be proud of what I’ve become.”

“What do you mean?”   
“I mean I’m so fucked up and I’m so—so broken. He wouldn’t recognize me.”

“But you’ve survived.”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek to stop the tears from spilling over. Yes, he’s survived, but he’s so beaten down he’s not sure there’s anything left of who he used to be.

“I’m sorry,” says Cas. “I shouldn’t argue with you. But I just wish you could see yourself as I see you. You are beautiful, inside and out.” He tilts Dean’s chin up so they’re looking eye to eye. “You are wounded, but that does not detract from your strength or beauty. But you need to acknowledge your injuries without seeing them as a reflection of weakness. Maybe it wasn’t your father’s fault. I wouldn’t have sold my child, but you’re right. I’ve lived a privileged life and I’ve never had to make that decision. But it was Michael’s fault, and it was Alastair’s fault, and it was your first master’s fault. Everyone who chose to treat you with malice and violence instead of kindness is at fault.”

“It was my fault for putting myself in that situation,” says Dean.

“No. I understand you need to find some sense of control here but—”

“You wouldn’t blame a car for running over someone who jumped into the road. I jumped into the road. I got hit. It was my choice.”

“It’s not like that. If we’re using your metaphor, then you are a pedestrian on the sidewalk. You chose to walk there but the drivers are still responsible for staying on the road. They made a choice to drive onto the sidewalk and hit you.” Cas shakes his head. “Dean, they chose cruelty when they could have been benign. They chose to hurt you. They chose to rape you. They chose to break you.”

Despite his best efforts, he feels himself crying again.

Another roar of thunder shakes the house and the fort.

Dean hugs his knees to his chest.

“It wasn’t your fault,” says Cas. He scoots closer and wraps an arm around Dean. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says again.

Dean doesn’t know if he believes him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape is discussed

Cas eventually retrieves his laptop so they can resume their search in the fort.

Dean wants to be brave enough to leave, to sit on the porch and sip whisky and watch the clouds roll in. He’s not though. He’s never been brave. He’s a good slave, a good son, a good soldier in the war of his life, but he is not brave.

He’s leaning against Cas while he searches on the computer. There are so many faces to look at, so many profiles to check. Dean’s not even sure he could recognize Sam. But he _has_ to recognize him. Sam has to be there. If he’s not it will mean he’s lost, because he’s a slave, because John is a bastard and sold Sam, too.

“Dean?”

“Sorry, what is it?” asks Dean, snapping back to reality.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Dean cringes. There was a time when he could follow rules without hesitation and without them needing repeating. Maybe he’s finally snapped. How sad. He survived just long enough to break when kindness came into his life.

“I know you get lost in your thoughts sometimes,” says Cas. “I don’t like to leave you wandering alone for too long, but you can tell me to leave you alone, if you want.”

“You know me too well,” says Dean. “I’m usually about to hate-spiral when you call my name.”

“Hate-spiral?”

“It’s what I call it when I get trapped in my head and everything seems…awful.”

“Is it hard to breathe when this happens?”

“Yeah, it’s like there’s something heavy on my chest.”

“That’s a panic attack. Racing heart rate? Cold sweat?”

Dean nods.

“Oh, Dean. I’m sorry. Those are panic attacks. I had a feeling that’s what was happening.”

“It’s ok. Alastair used to lock me in the closet or—” His voice trailed off. He was suddenly transported away from Cas and away from the fort. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. It’s his greatest secret.

“Or what?” asks Cas.

“I don’t remember,” answers Dean quickly.

Dean hasn’t thought about Jo in years. She was a sweet girl who Alastair watched for about a week. She was also a slave. She belonged to a friend. She was younger than Dean, maybe 19 years old, and somewhat new to business. She was new enough that she still screamed.

During that week, Dean got to choose how to take his punishments.

Alastair told him he could accept his penalty for whatever rule had been broken, or he could fuck Jo.

Dean closes his eyes.

“You’re shaking,” says Cas. He puts an arm around Dean.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mutters.

“Yes, you do.”

He’d forgotten about Jo. That’s the truth. He conveniently forgot the dark stains of his past where he was not the victim. What else did he forget?

He doesn’t mean to panic again. He doesn’t want to panic again.

“It’s ok,” says Cas. He’s rubbing circles against Dean’s back. “Just breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” says Dean. He’s sorry for so many things at this point. He’s sorry for Jo, for slaves whose names he never knew.

“You need to breathe,” says Cas. “I’m very serious. You’re gasping.”

How many things has he done? What did he do when he was drugged?

Dean is a monster. He is a twisted monster leaching off of Cas’ generosity. He is taking advantage of Cas, accepting charities he doesn’t deserve.

Monster.

Only a monster could behave like this. It is the only explanation.

“Hey, can you hear me?” asks Cas.

Monster.

He can hear his heart in his ears.

Monster.

“Dean, look at me.”

He looks at Cas.

“What happened? What were you thinking?”

If he is honest Cas will never be nice to him again. He deserves everything that ever happened to him. Maybe his father knew he had the potential to be a monster. Maybe he sold Dean to protect Sam.

Shaking, Dean pulls away from Cas and crawls out from under the covers. He leaves the fort.

The lights flicker. The rain is still pouring outside.

He is a psychopath. He finds a dark corner beside the fireplace. He kneels and lowers his forehead to the floor, hands behind his back.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Cas is right behind him.

“Please,” murmurs Dean, “don’t come closer.” 

“Can you sit up?”

“Only if you command me, sir.” This is what he has coming. This is what he deserves.

“What triggered you? Was it because we were sitting too close?”

Cas needs to know. Maybe Dean will be punished as free people are punished. He’s not sure what that is going to be though. Maybe Cas will realize Dean is a liar and he’ll shoot him while it’s still legal.

Cas sits with his legs crossed on the floor.

“I’m bad, Cas, I’m so bad.”

“It’s ok,” says Cas. “Please sit up.” Then he clears his throat. More forcefully, “Sit up, Dean.”

Still shaking he pushes himself up. He fixes his gaze on the ground.

“Look at me,”

He looks at Cas.

Cas searches his eyes. “Take three deep breaths,” he says.

Dean does as he’s told. He doesn’t even care that this is his second meltdown in less than two hours. He just knows he must be punished.

“Come here,” says Cas. He extends his arm and Dean is quick to crawl to his side.

He doesn’t deserve it, but it’s a command so he doesn’t argue. Memories are coming back to him, drifting into his mind and sticking and building like snowflakes.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” says Cas.

“I’m a monster and…” He swallows hard. “I’m just a monster.”

“You are not. You are a victim of circumstance.”

Cas doesn’t know. How can he tell him? How can he say the words he needs to say? “If you knew the truth, you wouldn’t say that.”

“What truth?”

“Never mind.” Dean stands. “I need to go to bed.”

“But the storm. Are you sure you want to sleep alone?”

Dean suppresses a shiver. “I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t deserve the comfort Cas is offering him. He won’t get sleep tonight, but that’s all right. He doesn’t deserve sleep either. He goes upstairs without another word to Cas.

He curls up on his bed. The comforter is still downstairs in the fort but he doesn’t want to see Cas again, so he lays under a sheet.

He raped her.

That’s all he can think about. Her begging him not to do it. Him doing it anyway. He doesn’t even remember the alternative punishment. If he hadn’t been so weak, he could have taken it and it wouldn’t haunt him like Jo will.

There’s a knock on his door.

“I brought your bedding,” he says from opening the door.

“Thanks,” says Dean.

Cas unfolds the comforter and covers Dean with it. “What happened just now?”

“Nothing,” answers Dean.

“If it’s something I did, please tell me. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Something happened.”

“It’s nothing,” says Dean again.

“Please talk to me,” says Cas.

He shakes his head. “Cas, the things I’ve done.”

“What have you done?”

Dean should just tell him. He should know what kind of horrible person he’s dealing with. “There was a girl named Jo,” he says quietly. “She was so sweet—an angel—she used to scream. Jesus. I can still hear her screaming.”

“You raped her?”

“I raped her. I think they were breaking her in. I think Alastair was supposed to really crush her soul.” He’s confessing everything. He doesn’t know why. But then it hits him. “How did you know I raped her?”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you both,” says Cas. “It was a common practice, forcing slaves to have sex with each other. I was hoping it didn’t happen to you.”

“Well it did. I thought you should know. You can send me back to Alastair if you want or get rid of me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t stay here. Do I go to jail? Or will they kill me?”

Cas sits on the edge of the bed. He starts running his fingers through Dean’s hair. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Isn’t that harboring a fugitive or something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. What happened, it’s horrible. That’s true. It was horrible for that girl. But it was horrible for you, too.”

“I’m a monster.”

“No, you’re not. You’re human. You made an impossible choice.”

“Have you ever been raped, Cas?”

He hangs his head. “No,” he answers.

“It’s the most humiliating thing you can do to someone. It hurts. It rips the dignity from your soul. It reminds you that you weren’t strong enough to defend yourself. It’s someone very clearly taking your power away and literally getting off on being more powerful than you. It’s been done to me so many times I’m numb, but Jo,” Dean sits up. “Jo was so innocent. I didn’t have much power, but I had a choice and that was more than she had. I made someone feel helpless.”

“You’re thinking of it in the worst way possible.”

“I _raped_ her. He let me choose my punishment and I chose to rape her.”

“What drug did he have you on?”

“Roofies. It was always roofies.”

“Then you were out of your mind.”

“That’s no excuse. God. What am I supposed to do now? How do I live with myself?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Stop saying that,” shouted Dean. “I am no better than the men who owned me. I’m the same, Cas. I’m the same stinking, wretched monster they are.”

“You didn’t have a choice, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head and sits with his back against the wall. “I deserve every rotten thing that happened to me. I literally had a choice, Cas. I chose to fuck her when I knew she was terrified. I am not innocent.”

“I’m so sorry,” says Cas. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” answers Dean.

“There must be something I can do. Would you like to talk to Charlie?”

“Oh god, no.”

“What can I do to help you?”

“Send me back to Alastair.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too. God, I’ve been taking advantage of your kindness for weeks. Here I was thinking I could accept your kindness because I’ve been through some shit, but I don’t deserve this.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I’m bad, Cas. 

“I would have done the same thing.”

“No, you’d never hurt someone else. Especially not if you could sacrifice yourself.”

“Look,” says Cas, cupping Dean’s cheek. “You did something unspeakable. That’s true. But you were in an impossible situation, one many people can speak about hypothetically, but will never come close to experiencing or truly understanding.

“That’s not exactly an excuse.”

“How do you know she wouldn’t have done the same thing?”

“Does it matter? I don’t care what she would have done, I care about what I _did_.”

“Alastair did that to you, don’t you understand? He gets away with it because you take responsibility for it. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him get away with it.”

Dean turns away from Cas.

Cas sighs.

Dean hears the comforter rustle. He feels the bed dip down.

Cas slips beneath the covers and pulls Dean into his arms. “You are good.”

“I am a monster.”

“No. You are far from it.”

He closes his eyes.

“It’s still a bit early for bed. Will you come back and help me find Sam.”

“All right,” mutters Dean.

They get out of bed and Cas grabs another blanket for the fort. They crawl back inside and resume the search for Sam.

Dean can’t stop thinking about Jo.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Dean doesn’t point to Sam immediately. He sees him, decides Sam wouldn’t want to meet him, and lets Cas scroll past. There aren’t pages and pages of Sam Winchesters but there are a good number to look at.

“This is the end of the search,” says Cas. “We’ve checked Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. I’m not sure where else to look.”

“You passed him,” says Dean.

“You saw him?”

Dean nods. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Why?”

“If he knew me, he wouldn’t want to be related to me. It’s better if I’m dead to him.”

“Because of Jo?”

“Yes.”

“If I were him, having had you in my life even for this short period of time, I’d still want to know what had happened to you. I would still miss you. Knowing you is a great privilege.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Cas sighs again. “Which one was your brother?”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Dean.

“Yes it does. What if he thinks you’re dead?”

“I should be.”

“Dean. You made an impo—”

“I could have chosen punishment. Instead I chose to punish someone else. I was selfish and cowardly. I don’t deserve to find Sam. I don’t deserve to be with you. I should be back with Alastair and if not with him, put a bullet in my brain and call it good.”

“Don’t you see that he was messing with your mind? He wanted you to feel guilty. He wanted you to live with this. You’re punishing yourself for him. He’s not even here and you’re punishing yourself.”

“You could whip me,” says Dean. “Do you have a whip?”

“No, of course I don’t have a whip.”

“Use your belt. The buckle end. I’ll learn. I can learn, Cas.”   
“Jesus, Dean. I’m not going to beat you.”

“I won’t learn unless you hit me.”

“That’s insane.”

Dean stands. If Cas won’t punish him, he’ll punish himself. He knows how. No food until he makes things right. He’s gone without food before. It hurts and it makes him crazy but it’s no less than he deserves.

“Where are you going?” asks Cas.

“My room.”

“Are you going to get a belt, because I will hide all of the belts if that’s what needs to be done.”

Dean turns and looks at him, incredulous. “You realize you’re my master, right? You can command me to do anything. If you say ‘don’t get a belt,’ I won’t do it.”

“I don’t believe that,” says Cas.

That stabs like a knife. Dean can’t follow orders. He couldn’t follow his father’s orders either. He falls to his knees. It hurts. His leg isn’t quite healed yet. He’s not sure why he feels it right now. He’s normally somewhat blind to persistent pain.

He shifts his weight onto his hurt leg so that the pain is more pronounced. It helps him focus. “I will leave the belts alone,” he says, eyes down.

Then Cas is right there. Arms around him. “Please tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

“I’m a bad slave,” says Dean.

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. I meant I couldn’t command you because you’re strong and opinionated. Those are good things. It means you are resilient, that you are an autonomous person.” He takes Dean’s face in his hands and holds his gaze. “It means the people who tried to beat independence out of you, failed. You survived. Your spirit is so much fiercer than the hell you were thrown into.”

At that Dean breaks. He cries. It’s too much. He’s never been called any of those things.

Cas wipes his tears away. “Your soul is bright and beautiful, Dean Winchester.”

He falls into Cas’ arms. He’s not strong or independent or beautiful. He’s weak and needy and broken. “I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not.”

Cas hushes him. “You are. I’m not going to argue with you about it. I am very confident in my assessment of you. I know people, I have to know them as part of my job. I think I’ve got you figured out.”

“It’s a lie, Cas.” Dean tricked him somehow.

“No, it’s not. I don’t think you’d lie to me.”

“I’m a liar. You can’t trust me.”

“I don’t have to trust you. I trust me.”

“I tricked you.”

“Ok. How?”

“I made you think I was strong. I’m not. I’m bad.”

“You think strength equals good?”

“Yeah.”

“First of all, strength is an attribute. It’s not a testament of virtue. You can be weak and still be good.”

That thought never crossed Dean’s mind. He never thought to separate the two.

“Can we agree on that? Goodness and strength are not the same?”

Dean nods.

“Do you think you are weak?”

Dean nods again.

“We’ll agree to disagree for now. Do you think you are bad?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I—what I did to Jo.”

“What you were forced to do?”

“I wasn’t forced.”

“What was the alternative?”

“I don’t remember,” says Dean. He doesn’t. He wishes he did, but he has no idea.

“What was a typical punishment?”

Dean closes his eyes and shivers. “He’d probably just fuck me.”

“He’d fuck you?”

“Yeah. He liked to,” he pauses and takes a breath. “He liked to t-take his time. He’d f-fuck me until…” It’s not that bad. It’s humiliating, but it’s not that bad. He’s being a bitch about it.

Cas doesn’t force him to say it. Maybe that’s what encourages him to keep going.

“He’d fuck me until I c-came. He l-liked to know I liked it.”

A dark shadow passes over Cas’ face. His expression softens after a second, but Dean has survived by reading micro-expressions. Cas is furious and disgusted. Dean might as well tell him the whole story.

“So after I came—I guess you should know this if we ever, um, are together again—after I came, I’d puke. Then he’d stop feeding me for a while. I’d get really dizzy and I’d forget what was happening. He liked me better that way. I was more obedient. If you want me to be more obedient, you h-have to s-stop feeding me.”

“Oh my god,” breathes Cas. “He was a monster. Dean, you have to know that. You were living with a monster.”

Dean feels dizzy now, he feels like he could throw up. Maybe he should have kept that to himself. He must not look good either because Cas reminds him to breathe and touches his forehead.

“You’re cold,” he says. “He takes Dean’s hands in his. “Your hands are cold too.”

“I’m ok.”

“You flashed back, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I should have recognized when it was happening.”

“It’s ok, really.”

“Dean, you were forced to make that decision. He knew it would hurt either way.”

Dean huffed. “I was fucked either way.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“That was a little funny.”

Cas shakes his head. “I appreciate your humor in times of darkness, but I need you to be serious about this.”

“Sorr—all right.”

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” says Cas.

“He’s probably long gone by now.”

“I bet he’s not. I know he must live nearby. If we can find Sam, we can find Alastair.” 

“Please leave him alone. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” 

“I won’t do anything, not yet anyway. Not until I have a plan.”

“Leave him alone. He’s a bad man. You don’t want to mess with him.”

Cas kisses his forehead. “Will you show me which profile is your brother’s?”

“Yes.”

Cas scrolls up and Dean points near the top of the page.

“Second one down,” he says.

Cas clicks the picture. “He’s still in Kansas. It says he went to school in California.”

“Wow. California, then back here? Why?”

“Let’s ask him. I’m not active on social media but I do have an account.” Cas clicks the button to send Sam a message. “What do you want to say?”

Dean stares at the screen.

“I’ll start.” Cas starts typing and Dean reads over his shoulder.

_Hello!_

_I am messaging you on behalf of your brother, Dean. He is doing well and would like to speak with you._

“You can’t say that,” says Dean.

“Why not?”

“It’s so…blunt.”

“What would you like to say instead?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”

“Let’s try my approach.”

Dean covers his face with his hands.

“Oh wait,” says Cas. “I have to be his friend for him to see this message. I think. I’m not sure how this works. I’ll add him.” Cas clicks _add friend_.

“Send it,” says Dean. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Cas hits send. “It may take a while for him to see this.”

Dean holds his breath.

“Don’t do that,” says Cas. “We don’t know when he’ll see this.”

“Can you check the bird one?” asks Dean. “Can we message him there?”

“Twitter?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, yes, good idea.” Cas pulls up Twitter and they search for Sam.

Dean points to a picture of someone with the name SWImpala_67. “That looks like him,” says Dean.

Cas sends the same message to that Sam.

“What now?” asks Dean. “Will he see that now?”

“He will if he has the app on his phone or is at his computer.”

A notification pops up on Cas’ computer. Sam has written him back.

_Picture._

“Picture?” asks Cas.

“Send him a picture of me,” says Dean quickly. “Wait. No. I look like hell. Shit. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll send him a picture. Smile.” Cas holds his phone up and looks to Dean.

Dean gives a kind of half smile and hope he looks all right enough. “Can I see it?”

Cas shows him the picture. 

“I look like a hostage.”

“You’ve been a hostage for over a decade.”

Dean shrugs. “Send the pic. I think that’s as good as I’m going to get.”

“I think you’re gorgeous,” says Cas.

He says it so sincerely all Dean can do is say, “Thank you.”

Cas sends the picture.

Sam sends a phone number.

“Call him,” says Dean.

“You can call him,” says Cas. 

“Fuck. Yeah, it should be me.” Dean blows out a long breath. “Here goes.”

Cas dials the number for him.

Dean holds the phone up to his ear.

Someone answers. “Put Dean on.”

“This is Dean.” 

“Who is allowing you to talk?” asks Sam.

“Who is allowing…um…my master, I guess.”

Cas shakes his head.

“I guess _Cas_ is letting me borrow his phone,” says Dean.

“Are you…” Sam’s voice trails off. “I thought Dad…”

“I was rescued.”

“Dean, I thought you were dead. What about funky town?”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sam is testing him. “That’s an old code, but it checks out,” says Dean.

“Answer the question,” says Sam.

“I’m fine. No funky town.”

Cas looks at him, confused.

“Later,” breathes Dean.

“You’re alive,” says Sam.  
“I’m alive.”

“Where are you? What’s your address?”

Cas mouths out the address and Dean repeats it to Sam.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” says Sam.

“You’re closer than I thought,” says Dean. 

“Not as close as I’d like to be. I’ll see you soon.”

“Ok. See you soon, Sammy.”


	12. Chapter 12

Sam shows up exactly an hour later. It’s still raining outside but the thunder has stopped.

Dean has done his best to look like he’s not on death’s doorstep.

Cas opens the door for him as soon as he pulls into the driveway.

Dean recognizes the sound of the car from a distance. It belonged to John. Apparently it’s Sam’s now.

Sam steps out of the car and he’s so tall. Sam’s always been tall but he’s an absolute sasquatch of a human being. And he’s got stubble on his jaw and chin. He’s so…old. But at the same time, when he sees Dean, his expression changes to the unfiltered joy of a rosy-cheeked 8-year-old.

Dean grins. “Hey, Sammy,” he says.

Sam rushes forward and crushes him in a hug. He doesn’t speak for a minute. “You’re so thin,” he says finally.

“I’m ok,” says Dean.

Sam finally pulls away and hold his by the shoulders and looks at him. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“I can’t believe you’re still in Kansas. I thought you would have moved on a long time ago.”

“I was waiting for you,” says Sam. “I knew you were here somewhere.” He looks to Cas. “How much?”

“How much what?” asks Cas.

“How much do you want for him?“

“Oh, I don’t own him,” answers Cas. “He’s free to go with you whenever he pleases.”

Sam looks at Dean. “You’re free?”

“As soon as the law says I’m free,” answers Dean.

Sam looks back to Cas.

“Technically,” says Cas, “I own him. But I don’t believe in slavery. I’m a doctor. I’ve been treating Dean’s injuries.”

“How much do you want for him?” asks Sam.

“Oh, he’s free to go with you,” answers Cas.

“Do you want to go with me?” asks Sam.

Dean doesn’t know how to answer that. Cas has seen his worst parts. Sam still thinks Dean is who he used to be. Dean’s not that person anymore. He’ll never be that person again. He can’t let Sam see him break down and beg because it’s raining outside. He’s Sam’s big brother. At the very least the illusion of Dean Winchester still exists in Sam’s mind.

Cas touches his shoulder.

Sam looks between Cas and Dean.

Dean remembers Sam asked him a question. “Um,” says Dean. “What?”

Sam scowls at Cas. “Are you drugging him? How long has he lived with you?”

“He’s not drugging me,” says Dean. He holds an arm out in front of Cas instinctively. “I’ve been with him for two weeks. He feeds me and he doesn’t beat me. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

Sam’s face softens. “I just want to make sure you’re all right. You look…”

Dean bites his lip. “I know.” He looks like a ghost. He feels like a ghost. Cas makes him feel real. John used to say, “No scars, no stories.” Dean has lots of stories.

“No, I mean you…you look like you’re in pain. You look like you’re starving.”

“He is in pain,” answers Cas. “But he is very resilient.”

Sam nods. “He’s the strongest person I know.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat. Sam can’t mean that. Dean isn’t strong.

“I agree,” answers Cas.

“You guys sure know how to make a girl blush,” says Dean.

Cas rolls his eyes.

Sam laughs. “Wow,” he says. “You haven’t changed.”

“Really?” asks Cas. He asks like he’s actually interested in Dean’s past.

Sam’s smile is crooked, like only part of him means it. “Yeah,” he answers. “Winchesters are fluent in sarcasm, but it’s Dean’s native tongue.” He wipes his eye.

Is he crying? Why is he crying?

“What’s wrong?” asks Dean.

“It’s nothing,” says Sam. 

“They didn’t change you,” says Cas.

Sam wipes his eyes again. “Yeah. I was just…I was so prepared for you to be dead.”

“I’m ok though,” says Dean.

“Yeah,” says Sam. “You are ok.” He runs a hand through his hair. It’s shaggy and needs to be cut. It’s always been too long. “Do you want to go with me? I’m renting a two-bedroom house in Wichita. You can have your own space. I’ve still got some of your stuff. I’m a partner in a great law-firm. I can support both of us.”

Dean wants to go with him. More than anything. He wants to be Sam’s brother again. He wants to be himself again. He hates being no one, but maybe that’s all that is left of him. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t know how to answer Sam.

“It’s ok if you don’t,” says Sam awkwardly.

“I want to,” says Dean. He glances at Cas.

“Why don’t we let Sam stay here for a few days,” says Cas. “You two can talk about living arrangements and get reacquainted.”

Dean nods. “Yes,” he says.

“Yes,” agrees Sam. “I kind of already packed a bag. I hope that’s all right.”

“How did you know you’d be staying?” asks Dean.

Sam scratches the back of his head. “It’s my go-bag,” he answers. “I’ve had it packed since I left Dad.”

“You left Dad?”

“Yeah,” answers Sam. “Once I found out what really happened to you, I couldn’t stand looking at him anymore.” 

Dean winces. “How did you find out?”

“I think I always knew,” says Sam. “Dad said you ran away. But I knew you wouldn’t leave without telling me. He got drunk with me on my 18th birthday and told me the truth.”

“Tell me you didn’t run away,” says Dean.

Sam nods to Cas. “Help me get my bags,” he says.

“That’s not a no, Sammy,” says Dean.

“Why don’t you pick up the fort so we can sit on the furniture,” says Cas.

Dean knows when he’s being dismissed. He picks up the cushions from the floor and begins folding the sheets.

Cas and Sam are still outside.

Dean wonders if Cas is telling Sam that Dean is a rapist and a monster who doesn’t deserve a home or happy ending. It bothers Dean to the point he risks eavesdropping. He crouches beside the open door and cups a hand behind his ear.

“One more question,” says Sam “what was the fort for?”

Cas explains Alastair’s peculiar punishment.

“The guy’s name is Alastair?” asks Sam.

“Yes.”

“You know where he lives?” asks Sam.

“I do,” answers Cas. “Dean thinks I don’t, though and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want him to know where Alastair lives.”

“Is he close?”

“Closer than I’d like,” answers Cas.

Dean’s stomach drops.

“How long will you be staying with us?” asks Cas.

“Until Dean decides to come with me.”

“You’re welcome to stay for as long as that takes, but what if he doesn’t?”

“We’ll navigate the crossroads when we come to them.”

“I think you need a plan,” says Cas.

“Speaking of plans,” says Sam. “You’re in love with my brother, but he’s your slave and patient? What’s the plan there?”

“I don’t understand,” says Cas. “I’m not in love with Dean.”

“Please. You two have something going on. As long as it’s consensual, I’m fine with it. But if you step one toe over the line, you’re a dead man.”

“Consensual?” asks Cas. “Do you think Dean likes me, too?”

“Wow,” says Sam. “Are you 12?”

“No, I…I just…”

“Right. We should get back to the house before Dean comes looking for us.”

Dean hears them approaching. He hurries to the living room and pretends to finish folding a sheet. Sam doesn’t even judge him for choosing to be with a man.

“Sam might be here a while,” says Cas, as he carries a backpack inside.

Sam has a duffle bag slug over his shoulder. “I won’t overstay my welcome,” he says.

“There’s a guest bedroom across the hall from Dean’s room,” says Cas. “You’re welcome to it.”

Dean’s stomach flutters at the words “Dean’s room.”

They take Sam’s stuff to the empty room. 

“I think I’ll fix dinner,” says Cas. “Why don’t you two unpack and relax while I get things together.”

“Thanks, Cas,” says Dean.

Cas leaves them alone.

Sam watches him leave the room and go downstairs. “Ok, you’re free to talk now.”

“I was free to talk before,” says Dean.

“But now Cas isn’t here.”

Dean shrugs. “I’m comfortable in front of Cas.”

“He’s got feelings for you,” says Sam. “I don’t know if I trust him or not.”

“If he’s got feelings for me, then his judgment is pretty fucked up.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant he might not think about what’s best for you because he’s thinking about what he wants.”

“Cas isn’t selfish,” says Dean. “He’s a good man.”

“You like him, too,” says Sam.

“He’s a really good person,” says Dean.

“I’m not judging,” says Sam.

“How long are you planning on staying, for real?”

“A while.”

“How much time off do you have?”

Sam smirks. “I actually have a family-medical leave clause in my contract. My partners know my history. They know about you and they know I’ve been looking for you. They also know that when I found you, I was going to be gone for a while.”

“And you’ve had a go-bag prepared because?”

“Because I knew I’d find you.”

“You thought I was dead,” says Dean.

“I _hoped_ I’d find you.”

“Do you know what happened to Dad?” asks Dean.

“Yeah. Unfortunately I found him again when I moved back from California. He was still in the same house. Most of our stuff was gone. I guess he sold it. I took everything that he bothered to keep.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Probably in Lawrence, exactly where I left him.”

Dean fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Did the money help?” He feels small and stupid for asking. He hates the sound of his voice, hates himself for talking.

“What money?” asks Sam.

“From selling me,” answers Dean.

“Yeah,” answers Sam. “It took Dad forever to find a job. That money must have kept us going for at least a year. But Jesus, Dean. I’d go back and do it all again if it meant keeping you with us.”

“Did Dad hurt you?”

“Dad hurt everyone.”

“Sammy.”

“Dean.”

Of course John hurt him. Sam was right. John hurt everyone.

“I will never forgive him for betraying you like that,” says Sam.

“It was our decision.”

“No. You were a child. It was his decision. Besides, if he wasn’t such a cliché drunk we wouldn’t have gone into such debt.” Sam shakes his head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you go willingly?”

Dean nods.

“Why?”

“Dad said it was only temporary,” answers Dean. He doesn’t realize it sounds pathetic until he says it.

Sam’s face says everything he can’t seem to say.

“I knew what I was getting into,” says Dean. It’s becoming his motto. It’s true though. He knew.

Sam doesn’t say anything else.

“We should help Cas with dinner,” says Dean.

“All right,” says Sam.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam is holding back questions. Dean can tell. Sam keeps getting that look on his face like he’s about to ask something but thinks better of it. Dean doesn’t know what he wants to talk about, but he knows Sam and he knows he’ll ask eventually.

It takes him until after dinner to ask.

Cas tells Sam and Dean to look around the house while he finishes putting leftovers away. Dean takes Sam upstairs and starts with his room. He’s weirdly proud to have a room, but it reminds him that last night, he slept in Cas’ room. He wonders if he’ll be allowed to do that again. It was nice, sleeping next to someone kind.

“I want to ask you something,” says Sam.

“Go for it,” says Dean.

“You said Cas doesn’t beat you. Did the others…did they hurt you?”

Sam has to know the answer. Dean is covered in scars.

“They tried,” answers Dean.

“What did they do to you?”

“I got pushed around a lot,” answers Dean.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s all right.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…I mean they whipped me a lot.”

Sam winces. “What else?”

“I was drugged a lot,” answers Dean. It’s not really a lie. “I don’t remember.” He huffs. Sam needs to know the truth. He needs to know Dean’s not worth feeling sorry for. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

Sam looks at him. “What?”

“I raped a girl,” he says bluntly. He doesn’t know how else to put it.

Sam looks confused.

“I had the choice to be punished or rape her and…I..I chose to save myself.” Tears are in his eyes. He fights them with everything he has. Sam can’t see him break down.

“It’s ok,” says Sam.

Dean can’t look at him.

“I mean it,” says Sam. “I don’t care. You’re my big brother. Your sins don’t matter to me.”

“They should. I’m not a good person.”

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “You survived,” he says. “I’m so happy you survived.”

“But Sam, you don’t understand.”

“I do. I’ve studied slave cases for years. I know what owners do to the people they’re in charge of. I see your scars. I know you must have been raped too.”

Dean looks at the floor.

“It doesn’t matter what you did,” says Sam. “I love you. You’re my brother. Those are the facts. You can’t do anything horrible enough to change them.”

Dean gets brave and looks at him.

“Cas told me Alastair was your last master,” says Sam. “I can make him pay for what he did to you.”

“I was listening,” Dean confesses.

“Then you know Cas and I are going to take care of things.”

“Don’t do anything illegal.”

“I’m a lawyer. I fuck up people legally all the time.”

Dean gives him a crooked smile.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now,” he says. “Now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting you go. No matter what happened in the past.”

“Thank you,” says Dean.

They finish the tour of the house and go back downstairs to find Cas. He’s waiting for them in the living room.

“This is a really nice place,” says Sam. “Way nicer than my rental.”

“Why are you renting when you’ve got fancy lawyer money?” asks Dean.

Sam gives him a look. “I wanted to be able to pick up and leave on short notice,” answers Sam. “And I guess in the back of my mind, I was always prepared to find you.”

“Even thinking I was dead?”

Sam shrugs. “I needed proof one way or another.”

Dean wants to cry, but he’s afraid to do that in front of Sam too much. What if Sam changes his mind and doesn’t want him anymore?

Cas must sense something is going on in Dean’s head because he moves closer to him. He offers Dean his hand.

Dean takes it.

If Sam notices, he doesn’t say anything. They spend the rest of the evening watching movies. 

They each go to their separate rooms to sleep. Dean wants to ask Cas if he can sleep in his room again, but he doesn’t want to sound like a clingy whore so instead he goes to bed alone.

He stays awake thinking about going to live with Sam. For whatever reason, he starts to cry. At this point he should know himself well enough to know what does and doesn’t make him cry. But he’s never known himself without knowing pain.

The soft pillow under his head and the soft comforter covering his wounded body are all too much right now.

The way Sam has embraced him without hesitation.

The way Cas loves him.

The way he loves Cas as much as someone like him can.

In that moment he aches to be whole. He aches to know himself. He wants so badly to understand why he can’t stop crying. He wants to sleep and wake up refreshed and ready to be Sam’s big brother.

But 16 was so long ago. He’s closer to 40.

Sam doesn’t even care.

Dean knew his life would end soon. He knew, _knew_ , he would die before 50. He was prepared for, at most, 14 more years of service. But Cas and Sam have wrecked that plan.

The way they talk, Dean’s not even halfway through his life. He’s not sure why that doesn’t comfort him.

Maybe because his life has been agony and he’s not brave enough to believe it’ll be smooth sailing from here and he knows he’s not strong enough to survive another fall.

He hides under the covers and curls in on himself. Alastair used to love it when he found Dean in this position. He’d find a way to ruin it or think of a new way to punish him for it.

Dean’s shaking now.

Cas would never hurt him. He knows that.

He wishes he was in Cas’ room right now. He knows Cas would comfort him. Maybe he’d hold him or say something soft and gentle.

Then again, Dean’s just a whore. Of course, he craves something physical. He doesn’t know any better. It’s the weakness in him.

That’s probably why John sold Dean and not Sam.

Dean was always the weaker of the two.

Sam was born to be a warrior and Dean was born to be his shield.

That just makes him cry more. It should make him proud. Instead, it scares him. He can’t be a shield again. He’s not strong enough. He’s got too many cracks. Sam can’t see them because Dean is good at hiding. But Cas has seen them, and he still tell Dean he’s strong.

Maybe it’s because Cas is a doctor. He’s gentle with Dean’s broken mind the way he’s gentle with his broken leg.

He’s not sure what time he falls asleep, but it’s light out and he’s too tired to care. For a moment all he does is marvel at the fact he has his own window, then drifts off to sleep.

He tells himself he’s only going to sleep for an hour or two. That’s all he needs anyway.

When he wakes up, it’s still light out. He can see through the curtains.

He’s sure he’s only slept an hour. He yawns.

Voices. That’s what woke him.

He hears them now in the hall.

The door to his room creeks open and he freezes. His back is to them. He slept too long. He knows it in his bones. He slept too long and wasn’t useful or attentive. He served no purpose today.

Someone sits on the edge of his bed. They run their hands through his hair and he remembers Cas.

He’s safe. No one is going to hurt him.

“Dean?” asks Cas quietly.

Dean opens his eyes and rolls over.

Cas is sitting beside him.

Sam is standing by the door.

“Good morning,” says Cas, smiling down at him.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about that. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Are you feeling ok?”

“Yes,” answers Dean. “Sorry, I stayed up late I think. What time is it?”

Cas looks like he wants to laugh. He doesn’t look angry at all. But Alastair was more amused than angry too.

But it’s probably safe to assume Cas is genuine and not malicious.

Dean sits up and looks to Sam. “How long was I asleep?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” answers Sam, “but it’s four in the afternoon now.”

Dean looks to Cas. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly.

Cas shakes his head. “Please,” he says, “no apologies.”

“Right,” says Dean. “I forgot.” He looks between Cas and Sam. “I should get up.”

Cas stands and nods. He goes to the door with Sam. “Would you like me to fix you something for breakfast?” he asks.

“No,” answers Dean. “I’ll probably just wait for dinner.”

“He should ea—” begins Sam.

Cas shakes his head.

Dean doesn’t understand what that’s about until he gets dressed and goes downstairs. Cas and Sam are in the kitchen. Cas made oatmeal.

“I told you I’d wait,” says Dean. 

“I know, but you’re still underweight and I’m still worried about you.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, but he seems to approve.

Dean wishes he understood what he was feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. Life got in the way.   
> Leave a comment if you like what you read!  
> Follow me on Twitter @jenkies812


	14. Chapter 14

Dean can’t go with Sam and he doesn’t know how to say it. He wants to sleep in Cas’ bed and he doesn’t know how to say it. He wants to go outside more, and he doesn’t know how to say it.

He’s so grateful for everything everyone has done for him and he has the audacity to want more.

It’s been a week since Sam’s arrival.

Dean will be legally free soon, then what?

Cas and Sam will have to go back to their jobs soon.

What will Dean do?

Sam and Dean are sitting on the back deck. 

Cas is inside making lunch.

“You know,” says Sam, “If you don’t want to come with me, you don’t have to.”

Dean looks down. He can’t make eye contact, but he can feel Sam watching him.

“I know you must like it here.”

Dean swallows hard. “I’m sure I’d like it at your house too,” he says. He sounds small, pathetic. He hates himself.

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a few days?” suggests Sam.

Dean looks up.

“Cas can come too,” he says.

“All of us?” asks Dean.

“Yeah. We can pack some stuff tonight and head out tomorrow if you want.”

“We should ask Cas.”

Sam scratches the back of his neck. “It was kind of his idea. We talked about it yesterday. I wanted to be the one to pitch it to you in case you didn’t want him to come.”

“You guys thought of everything.”   
“We just want you to be comfortable and we don’t want you to feel guilty, no matter what happens.”

“Thanks,” says Dean.

They end up packing after lunch. They’re all ready to go by 4 pm. Sam suggests they go ahead and go to his place since it’s only an hour away.

Dean and Cas agree.

They take separate cars and Dean rides with Sam. He doesn’t expect the car to give him flashbacks, but it does.

He ignores the gnawing surrealism of being back in the Impala. Sitting in the front seat, no less. It’s almost too much. The last time he was in this car he was with John going to get groceries. It was when John told him he’d found a buyer. It was the day after his birthday.

Twenty minutes into the drive, it does become too much. He’s done his best to hide it, but at this point he can’t keep up the conversation because he keeps zoning out. He’s not even sure what they’ve been talking about so far.

“Are you ok?” asks Sam.

Apparently, Dean isn’t subtle about his panic.

“I’m fine,” he answers. 

“You look really pale and sweaty. Should I pull over?”

Dean can’t keep his shit together for five fucking minutes. He can’t even survive a car ride. He really is a bitch.

_Pathetic bitch._

_Scream, bitch._

_Whore._

_Fucking whore._

_Cry, slut._

Dean shivers.

Sam has pulled over.

He hears Cas pulls over behind them.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam wave Cas over to the car.

Dean’s grateful there’s no one else on the road. No one else is there to witness his weakness.

Just as that thought leaves his head, a car appears in the rearview mirror.

 _Don’t stop_. _Keep driving._

“What’s wrong?” asks Sam. He’s opened the door to Dean’s side of the car.

Cas is right there with him. He’s checking Dean’s cheeks and looking in his eyes with his little flashlight.

All Dean can think about is the car coming up behind them. He’s shaking now.

“Can you hear me?” asks Cas.

Dean looks in the mirror again.

It’s a sheriff. He’s slowing down.

“P-police,” stammers Dean.

Sam looks up.

The sheriff is pulling up beside them. He comes to a stop and rolls down his window. “Evening gentlemen,” he says.   
Dean falls out of the car and onto his knees. He lets his forehead fall to the pavement and clasps his hands behind his back. He doesn’t know what Cas and Sam are doing. He can’t see any of the free people.

“Why isn’t that boy wearing his collar?” asks the sheriff.

“I don’t require one,” answers Cas

At the same time Sam says, “That _boy_ is my brother.”

Dean hears the sheriff open his car door. “I can write you a ticket or you can put a collar on him,” he says. Dean hears something hit the ground in front of him.

“I’ll take a ticket,” spits Cas.

“How do you want to pay that off?” asks the sheriff. “You can pay a fine or,” his voice trails off.

“May I remind you, officer,” says Sam, “he’ll be free in a week.”

“Then you’ve got seven days to settle up with a pound of flesh.”

Dean hears the sound of paper ripping. He hears the officer get in his car and hears the car start up again.

He drives away.

Dean cost Cas money. He just cost Cas money and caused him to get a ticket. That’s something legal. That will go on some record somewhere and Cas is a doctor. He doesn’t need that kind of trouble.

“Dean?”

He can’t move, can’t speak.

“I swear to God,” says Sam, “You’re not paying that fine. I will fight that until they get tired of seeing me in the courtroom. I will become such a pain in that guy’s ass.”

Dean hears someone kneel beside him. Someone gently undoes his grip on his wrist and eases his arms into a relaxed position.   
“That asshole is going to be so sorry he messed with us,” says Sam. His voice is coming from above Dean. He’s still standing.

Cas is kneeling beside him.

Of course it’s Cas.

Cas is gentle.

Cas loves him.

Still shaking, he sits up on his knees. It hurts his leg but not enough for him to complain.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he answers. “I don’t know what happened.”

“May I?” asks Cas.

Dean nods.

Cas never needs to specify what he’s about to do.

Dean trusts him and knows it won’t hurt or embarrass him.

Cas takes his hand.

Dean’s going to cry again. He’s going to cry in front of Sam. It’s too late to stop it. He feels the tears running down his cheeks.

Sam’s seen his frailty. He’s seen Dean break.

Sam’s real brother wouldn’t break so easily. His real brother is strong and brave.

Cas kisses the back of his hand and holds it against his chest.

Dean lets out a deep breath.

Sam offers him a hand.

Dean takes it and Sam pulls him to his feet.

Cas stands, still holding Dean’s hand. He helps Dean back into the front seat of the Impala. Then he kneels beside the car. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right,” answers Dean.

“What happened before you guys pulled over?”

“Dean got really quiet and pale,” answers Sam.

“It was the car,” says Dean. “I freaked out because I was thinking about the last time I was in the Impala and I—It’s just been a while.”

“Do you want to ride with Cas?” asks Sam.

“No,” answers Dean. “I’m ok. I just needed to catch my breath.”

“Can I ask a question?” asks Sam.

“Go for it,” answers Dean.

“What happened last time you were in this car? Was it—were you sold?”

“No,” answers Dean. “Dad just broke the news to me while we were running errands. I guess I took it harder than I remembered.”

“It was right after your 16th birthday,” says Sam. “Shit. That guy came to pick you up the next day.” Sam hangs his head. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea what was happening.”

“I know,” says Dean. “We couldn’t tell you though. You never would have let me go.”

“That man who came to the house,” says Sam, “was he your first master?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he says. “I should have known this might trigger you.”

“It’s ok,” says Dean. “I’m ok.”

Anger flashes over Cas’ face. He looks up at Sam. “You said your father is in Lawrence, right?”

“Yeah,” answers Sam. “He’s not going to bother us, I’m positive.”

“Are you sure you want to ride back with Sam?” asks Cas.

“I’m sure,” says Dean.

Sam and Cas exchange a look.

Dean doesn’t understand what it means. It’s probably something in reference to something they talked about when he wasn’t around. He hates not knowing.

They get back into their cars and all Dean can think about now is the “pound of flesh” Cas owes the officer. He’s got seven days to decide it’s easier to turn Dean over to the county for a day or two and have him work off the debt.

He’d get assigned to some facility to do community service on Cas’ behalf. He’d be whipped and punished for stepping out of line. He’d probably get fucked in the shadows of some government facility.

Dean would belong to someone else for 24 to 48 hours. They could do what they wanted with him.

“Dean?” asks Sam.

“Yeah?”

“What are you thinking right now?”

“Um.” He suddenly can’t think of a lie.

_Stupid whore._

“You don’t have to tell me,” says Sam. “I just thought, maybe it would help if you said what was going on in your mind.”

Dean nods. “Ok,” he says. “I was thinking about Cas’ ticket. How he’ll pay. If—if he’ll use me t-to pay off his debt.”

“All right,” says Sam slowly. “First thing, I’m so glad you shared that with me because I can clarify some stuff.”

Dean’s heart skips a beat.

“Cas and I just assumed you knew he would pay in cash if we can’t argue it down in court. Does that make sense?”

Dean nods. They’re good people. It makes sense that good people would never think someone would assume the worst of them.

“The next thing I want you to know is that you’re going to be free soon. But as long as you’re with me or Cas, you’re safe. The rules of other slave masters don’t apply to you.”

“I don’t understand,” says Dean.

_Stupid Whore._

“I mean you don’t need to bow to anyone anymore. I know it’s going to be a hard habit to break, but you I want you to practice acting like a free person.”

“Oh,” says Dean. Something clicks in his head. In the weeks he’s been with Cas, it’s never occurred to him to act like a free person.

“Does that make sense?” asks Sam.

“Yes,” answers Dean. “I can pretend I’m a free person.”

“You’re practicing,” says Sam. “Because you’re going to be a free person soon.”

“So when I’m around you guys, I should act like a free person?”

“Right. Even if other people are around.”

“So, I shouldn’t have taken a neutral pose when the sheriff stopped by?”

Sam readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He seems to grip it tighter. He seems angry and Dean has no idea why.

But a free person would ask what was wrong. Cas asks Dean that question all the time. And Sam asked him to say what was on his mind earlier, maybe he won’t mind Dean speaking up now. “Are you mad at me?” asks Dean. 

“No,” answers Sam quickly. “No, not at all.”

“You looked mad for a minute there.”

“I don’t like the term ‘neutral position.’ I don’t like what it looked like. I don’t like that you knew it. I don’t like the idea that someone taught it to you.” Sam shakes his head. “It’s not your fault at all. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just makes me want to kill Dad for what happened to you.”

“I won’t take that position anymore,” says Dean. “I just thought, since he was law enforcement. I guess I wanted to be respectful.”

“I know and that’s perfectly fine,” says Sam. “But from now on, no one can make you take that position. No one is that important.”

“And free people don’t take that position.”

“That’s right,” says Sam.

Dean nods again, mostly to reaffirm the idea of pretending to be free. He could pretend. Especially since Sam told him to. 


	15. Chapter 15

They arrive at Sam’s and he shows them the guest bedroom. “You can sleep here, Dean,” he says.

“Cas, you can sleep on the sofa.”

“We can share,” says Dean, surprising himself when he speaks up.

“You’re ok sharing a bed with Cas?” asks Sam.

Dean nods. “We’ve done it before.”

Sam narrows his eyes at Cas.

“I’d had a bad day,” says Dean. “Cas didn’t want me to be alone.”

“What did _you_ want?” asks Sam.

“Um,” answers Dean. “To be with Cas.”

Cas takes their bags and puts them in Sam’s guest room. “If you change your mind, I’ll be fine sleeping on the sofa,” he says.

They eat dinner and hang out talking for a while.

Sam offers Dean a beer.

Dean takes it and tries to act casual, but he’s never had beer before.

John gave him a shot of scotch right before he was sold. It was their first and last drink together.

He’s had other alcohol. Alastair would make him drink when he wanted Dean to stop being so difficult.

This is very different. This is nice and warm and safe. The edges of his consciousness start to blur. Dean relaxes into his seat. He’s on the couch next to Cas and Sam is sitting in a chair beside them.

Dean blinks and he finds it’s difficult to focus. He sets his drink down. His heart skips a beat. He leans back against the couch.

He reminds himself he’s safe.

“I supposed it’s about time for bed,” says Cas. “I don’t know about you two but I’m exhausted.”

Dean’s tired too, but he doesn’t feel like standing up and walking to the bedroom. Maybe he did drink too much. He had several beers. Cas had warned him not to drink too much until he knew how it would affect him.

“Me too,” says Dean, slurring his words a little.

“Are you all right?” asks Cas.

“I think I’m a little drunk,” says Dean. “I’m not scared though.”

“Why would you be scared?” asks Sam.

Dean sits forward. “I don’t remember,” he lies. He’s not scared because he’s around good people who only want him to be happy. No one is trying to get him drunk to make him more pliable so it will be easier to take advantage of him.

He can’t share that with Sam though. It’s too much insight into the tragedy that is Dean’s past.

Sam may have studied the horrors of slavery, but knowing it happened vs knowing it happened to someone you love are two different things.

Cas stands and extends his hand.

Dean takes it and Cas pulls him to his feet. Dean sways. “I think I’m drunk,” he says again.

“I know,” says Cas. He squeezes Dean’s hand. “But you’re safe with us. It’s ok for you to get drunk.”

“I know,” says Dean. “I trust you guys. You’re good people.”

Sam looks confused but Cas smiles.

“Thank you, Dean,” says Cas. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

They say good night to Sam and go to the guest room. They get ready for bed, Dean’s a little slower than Cas. His center of balance is off.

Dean crawls into the bed behind Cas. He wiggled under the covers. “This bed is so _soft_ ,” he says.

“It is. Do you like it better than your bed at our house?”

Our house.

Cas just says it.

Dean looks at him. He doesn’t know what to say and forgets the question. Instead, he rolls over to Cas and hugs him. “You’re a good person,” he says.

“Thank you,” he says again.

Dean realizes he’s thrown himself at Cas.

He’s a slut.

A stupid slut.

A whore.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly pulled away and curled to the other side of the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Cas.

“I don’t know,” answers Dean.

“Did I do something?”

“No, it wasn’t you. I’m sorry Cas, I’m just a dumb whore.”

Cas looks horrified. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Dean says grimly.

Cas holds his hand out.

Dean take it.

Cas tugs gently and Dean returns to his arms.

“Jesus,” says Cas. “You’re shaking.”

Dean doesn’t know why. He’s not scared or nervous. Maybe it’s shame, or embarrassment because all he has to offer Cas is his body and Cas deserves more. “I’m sorry,” says Dean.

“What on earth for?”

“You’re so wonderful,” says Dean. “I wish I was good like you.”

Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair. “You are good,” he says. “I don’t understand where this is coming from. Why do you keep calling yourself a whore?”

“Because I am. I mean, I’ve been with you for about three weeks now and we’ve already been together. And now I’m drunk and the first thing I do is throw myself at you.” He laughs. “I’m free, right? No one is forcing me to be a stupid slut. I’m doing it on my own.”

“Dean, no,” says Cas. “You’ve been so unfairly treated, so abused for so long, it’s natural for you to want something gentle. Even free people want gentleness.”

Dean wipes away tears. He didn’t realize he’d started crying. “It’s natural?” he asks. “It’s not weird that I want…” His voice trails off.

“What do you want?” 

“I like it when you hold me,” he says quietly.

“I like holding you,” says Cas.

“I liked sleeping in your bed.”

“Then you are welcome to sleep in it.”

Dean thinks he feels his heart break. Cas will give him anything. He hugs Cas tightly and buries his face against Cas’ chest.

_Needy bitch._

He closes his eyes and tries to block out the voices in his head.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You are not a whore.”

He feels heat rise in his cheeks. Yeah, he’s embarrassed. “I feel so dirty,” he says.

“Why?” asks Cas.

“I’m a slut. Stupid fucking slut. If you knew the things I’d done, the things I _asked_ for, you wouldn’t want to touch me.”

“You didn’t _ask_ for any of this.”

“I did. I’d get drunk or high or scared and I’d beg for all kinds of things.”

Cas doesn’t push him away. He holds him closer.

“Dumb slut,” mutters Dean.

“Listen to me,” says Cas. “Who is saying those things to you? Are you saying them to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t. Your abusers are saying those things. Put those insults in their voices.”

“Why?” asks Dean.

“Because you know they’re evil, disgusting people.”

“I’m disgusting too.”

“No you’re not.”

“Cas, last time I got drunk I blacked out woke up and I…” He shivers. He can’t say it. Maybe he’ll never say it. It’s too awful.

Cas doesn’t pressure him. He holds him and rocks side to side and begins to sing. “There’s nothing so bad, you can’t confide in me, love. No heartache or lasting regret. Nothing so sad, that you've tried to be free of. That I won't forgive and forget.” Then he kisses the top of Dean’s head.

Dean sits up from where they’re lying. He looks down at Cas. He takes a shaky breath. He leans down and kisses him gently, his lips brushing against Cas’.

Cas’ hands are holding Dean’s sides. He makes a contented little hum.

Dean doesn’t go further. He wiggles back down against Cas. “I wish I could do more,” he says.

“Not while you’re under the influence.”

“Maybe when we get back home?”

“Maybe,” answers Cas.

Dean huddles against his chest. “You’re a really good person,” he says.

“So are you,” says Cas.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night.

Cas is spooned behind him.

Dean’s head hurts and he’s too dizzy to get out of bed. It takes him a minute to register the sensation he’s feeling on his arm.

Cas is gently running his fingertips against Dean’s skin.

“Are you awake?” whispers Dean.

“Yes,” answers Cas.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No. But you were talking to yourself a little bit.”

“Sorry.”

Cas kisses his shoulder. 

“I think I drank too much,” says Dean. He wants to say something soft. He wants to ask Cas if they can just kiss. Nothing else. Maybe they could kiss for a while until they fell back asleep. Dean wants to say something to match the warm, tingly feeling under his skin right now.

Cas hums. “Maybe.”

“I remember everything though,” says Dean. It’s a first for him.

Cas doesn’t say anything.

“Did I keep you awake talking to myself?”

“No,” he answers. “I was already awake.”

Dean looks at the clock on the bedstand. It’s late. “Why haven’t you been to sleep?” 

“I don’t know,” answers Cas. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

“Nothing.”

“You make me tell you what I’m thinking,” says Dean.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Dean rolls over in Cas’ arms. Now they’re lying face to face, noses almost touching. “Talk to me,” whispers Dean.

“I have to go back to work soon,” says Cas. “It’s been so nice. This month we’ve spent together.”

“It has been nice,” agrees Dean.

“I’m just thinking about going back. I love what I do but it’s taxing.”

“I’m sure it is,” says Dean.

Cas seems to care so much about him. He _loves_ Dean. He can only imagine how hard it must be if Cas cares for all of his patients the way he cares for Dean.

“And I suppose,” begins Cas, “if I’m being honest, I’m going to miss you quite a bit.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” says Dean. “But I’ll find ways to keep busy. What time do you usually come home?”

“I leave around seven and come home at six,” answers Cas. “Why?”

“So I’ll know when to have dinner ready.”

“Dean, you’ll be living with Sam.”

Dean pulls back. “What?” Cas doesn’t want him. Cas doesn’t love him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m just staying here to make sure your brother has the means to take care of you,” says Cas.

Dean feels something crack and break in his chest.

“Isn’t that the plan?” asks Cas.

Dean nods quickly. He shouldn’t have assumed he had a choice. Obviously, Cas is just keeping him until he could get on his feet. Sam’s the only person in the world who might sincerely want him.

Then again Sam said Cas has feelings for him. But Cas is hard to read. Did he overhear Cas saying he liked Dean?

He can’t remember and his heart he knows it doesn’t matter. Cas can like him and still not want to be burdened with him. And that’s what Dean is now, a burden.

Cas touches his cheek and he jumps.

“Come back,” whispers Cas.

Dean closes his eyes.

“Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” answers Dean.

“I’m staying here to help you transition. I’ll head back home in a few days and we’ll get your stuff, and you’ll move in with Sam. Isn’t that the plan?”

“Yeah,” answers Dean.

“I told you what I was thinking, now you tell me.”

“I’m thinking that I like the plan,” says Dean. It’s a hard lie to tell but he doesn’t want Cas to feel like he has to keep him. That last thing Cas deserves is to feel guilty.

“You don’t look like you like it.”

Dean opens his eyes. He’s been coddled so long he’s forgotten how to sell the lie. He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose. “I’m just sleepy,” he says. “I’m excited to move in with Sam.”

Cas doesn’t want him.

Cas doesn’t want him.

Cas doesn’t want him.

He’s so stupid. Sam was just teasing Cas. He must have meant it seemed like they were in love because Cas was so gentle.

Arrogant.

Dean was arrogant.

Like he was someone Cas could love. He’s a disgusting slut. Stupid whore. All he knows is how to get fucked.

He has no idea how he can make Sam like him. Maybe he can do manual labor. He can keep the house clean and do yard work. He’ll make dinner and do whatever needs to be done to keep the house in order. Maybe Sam can loan him to friends in trade for money or favors.

Then he remembers you don’t _loan people._ He’s going to be a person soon.

“Walk me to the moon,” whispers Cas. “We’ll travel hand in hand. Casting whispers in the wind. Leaving footprints in the sand.”

Dean rolls over onto his side so his back is to Cas again. He holds Cas’ hand and pulls it tight to his chest.

Cas hugs him close.

Silent tears roll down Dean’s cheeks.

***  
  
Sam offers to show Dean around town, but Dean refuses to leave the house without a collar.

“No one will know,” says Sam.

“I can’t,” says Dean. “I’m so sorry. But I need you to understand. I have to wear one.”

Cas puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. We can stay in.”

They end up binge-watching an old show called Doctor Who.

Dean decides he likes it.

Cas sits beside him on the couch.

Dean smiles and laughs throughout the afternoon. He’s careful to keep his mask on. He has no right to be sad, but he is. He is so deeply sad, and it doesn’t make sense, but he feels like he’s getting sold again. He doesn’t want to learn a new master, even if that master is Sam. Even if he’s free.

He doesn’t want to learn new ways to feel useless. He doesn’t want to newly embarrass himself in front of Sam. His brother has already seen him crack and break in front of the sheriff. What would Sam think if he tried to introduce Dean at a party and Dean ended up sucking off one of the guests.

What would Sam do?

What would he think of Dean?

Cas didn’t think any less of him. In fact, Cas had understood something Dean still didn’t.

How the hell would Sam be able to comfort him after something like that? Dean’s too stupid to keep it from happening again. If someone could take advantage of him with Cas around, surely it could happen with Sam.

Maybe Sam would realize that Dean was just a dumb whore. Maybe he’d throw Dean out. Maybe he’d just be disappointed. Or worse, maybe he’d find out that the Dean he used to know is dead.

They go to bed a little late that night. Dean is exhausted from pretending all day and he desperately wants to sleep.

“Is it all right if I hold you when we’re in bed?” asks Cas, getting under the covers.

“Yes,” answers Dean quickly. It’s the best part of the night.

“You don’t mind?”

“No,” answers Dean. “I like it.”

“I like it too,” says Cas. He slips one arm beneath Dean’s head and wraps the other around his waist.

Dean pulls the covers over them and wonders how many more nights he has with Cas.


	17. Chapter 17

Dean hasn’t been counting down the days until his freedom. It sneaks up on him. The days go by at a regimented pace. It’s the same routine. They wake up, sit around and talk, watch TV, then go to bed. Sam leaves sometimes to buy dinner or groceries. Dean pretends he’s very happy, the happiest he’s been so far. The last thing he wants is for Cas to feel guilty.

He’s done so much for Dean, for his safety and sanity. Cas is good and he deserves to know it. 

Cas wakes him up gently one morning. “Dean?” he whispers.

“Morning,” he says.

“Do you know what today is?”

“Friday?” Dean rolls over to look at him.

“The first of the month.”

“Oh,” says Dean. Then, “Oh!”

“You’re free.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m really free?”

“You are.”

“What about the brand?”

“It is a scar. That’s all.”

Dean is silent for a moment. He closes his eyes and thinks of all the people who died last night because their masters didn’t want to set them free. He thinks of all the people who were sold at the last minute to make a quick buck and worked to death. Some people would probably get lost in the system and never see freedom.

But the rest of the people would wake up today, just like Dean, and find out they were free.

He feels Cas brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“What do you want to do to celebrate your freedom?” asks Cas.

Dean is free. He can ask for things. He can have wants and demands. He made it. He’s a free fucking person. Maybe he can learn to be someone again after all.

He opens his eyes and looks at Cas.

All he wants is to live with him and cook dinner and have Cas come home and talk about his day. Maybe Dean has a job too. Jesus, could that really happen? Could he get a job? He has no skills.

He doesn’t know how to do anything other than fuck. He didn’t even finish high school. He is stupider than the other slaves he met, too. A lot of them were college kids working off student loans or credit card debt.

No wonder Cas asked if Dean could read when they first met. He must have seen Dean’s file. He's supposed to be a lot dumber than he is but that’s not saying much.

“I need a job,” says Dean quietly.

“That’s no way to celebrate,” says Cas.

“I need to go t-t-to s-school,” says Dean. Suddenly he imagines his stupid stutter kicking in around Sam. Even if Sam does nothing and is very nice, it will still be humiliating.

Cas cups his cheek in his hand. “What’s going on? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t have any skills,” says Dean. “I’m just a dumb whore.”

“No, I don’t like it when you say that about yourself. It’s not true. Something that isn’t true is a lie. You’re not a liar, are you?”

Dean closes his eyes.

_Liar._

“Alastair said I was,” answers Dean. He has no idea why he’s brave enough to say this out loud. Maybe it comes with being free. “He said I was a stupid, lying bitch.”

“What did he say you lied about?”

“Being hungry, how much something hurt, if I was scared. One time I tried to be brave and he punished me until I admitted I was really afraid.”

“What were you trying to be brave about?”

“He was going to send me to a behavior specialist.”

“Did he end up sending you?”

Dean nods.

“So he punished you for being afraid of a punishment? Then dared to call you a liar?”

He nods again. He doesn’t remember the behavior specialist. He remembers coming home feeling sick and drunk.

“Justice will come to him,” says Cas darkly. “I don’t know how. I can’t see it yet. But I know we will find a way to make him pay for what he did to you.”

Dean covers Cas’ hand with his. He turns his head and kisses Cas’ palm. “I know what I want,” says Dean quietly. 

“Anything.”

He licks his lips and looks into Cas’ eyes. “I want to kiss you,” he says.

“Really?” asks Cas.

There’s no judgment in his voice like Dean thought there would be. If anything, Cas sounds hopeful. That makes Dean feel braver. “Yes,” answers Dean.

Cas wiggles closer to him.

Their noses touch.

Cas doesn’t move.

Dean is the one who initiates the kiss. He eases into it, testing the waters. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed Cas before. Their lips touch and Dean presses a little harder. He hums. He pushes himself up on his elbow. He’s above Cas now. He should just commit.

He throws his leg over Cas and straddles his hips.

Cas opens his legs and tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair.

Dean licks into Cas’ mouth. He has no idea how far he wants to go.

“Are you comfortable?” asks Cas, sounding a little breathless.

“Yes,” answers Dean. He runs his hands over Cas’ chest.

Cas is hard.

Dean is hard. He leans to one side and rolls onto his back, pulling Cas on top of him. It takes him a minute to understand why he did it. He’s always on his back. He’s only on top when Master is too tired to keep fucking him but isn’t done with him.

Cas doesn’t continue kissing him. He stops and rests his forehead against Dean’s.

It’s Dean’s job to entice him, keep him interested. It’s his job to prove he’s worth keeping. But Cas doesn’t think he’s worth keeping. Cas said things like “when _we_ get home” and “ _our_ house.” Why did he say those things if he isn’t keeping him? Can Dean ask?

“What are you thinking?” whispers Cas. He nuzzles against Dean’s nose.

He’s free now, right? He’s safe and cared for, isn’t he? He can say what he’s thinking. He can do whatever he wants. No one is going to hurt him and legally, they can’t. Not only is he around people who won’t hurt him, but they aren’t even allowed to.

His safety is legal now. His wants and desires are legal. He can say yes or no to anything because it’s his _right._

He realizes his eyes are closed tight. He opens them.

Cas has pushed himself up and is looking down at Dean.

“I’m free,” says Dean quietly.

Cas smiles down at him. “Yes, you are.”

“I-I w-want to ask you a question.” He’s going to do it. He’s going to ask Cas why he’s not keeping him. Then he stops. He shuts his mouth. How dare he? How dare he ask Cas why he doesn’t want to support a wounded, broken, crazy adult man? Isn’t it obvious? Cas realized what he was getting into and changed his mind.

Dean knows it will break him again to hear Cas say it. “Never mind,” he says.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You can ask me anything.”

“I just want to kiss you again.” He grins and wiggles his hips. He raises an eyebrow and bites his lower lip. Something screams inside him. It screams in his head because he cannot scream out loud. And he wants to. He wants Cas to call him on his bullshit. He wants Cas to notice he’s not being honest.

Instead of saying anything, Cas leans down and kisses him.

Tears roll down Dean’s cheeks and he can’t stop them. Alastair loved to make him cry. He used to be good at fighting it.

Cas pulls away quickly. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No,” answers Dean. “I’m just so happy. I can’t believe I’m free.” He wipes his eyes. “I’m free.” He hates, _hates_ lying to Cas. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world. The only feeling worse comes from watching Cas fall for the lie.

Maybe his training is worth something after all.

“Is that all?” asks Cas. He’s not stupid. He’s hard to convince.

But Alastair was hard to convince too.

Dean is a very, _very_ good liar.

“I’m so happy I don’t know what to do.” He wipes his eyes again. He laughs a little to really sell the sincerity. “Cas,” he says. “I’m free.”

Cas nods. “Yes,” he says, “You are.” He smiles back. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“Celebrating?”

“It’s not much, but Sam and I thought you might enjoy a little pomp and circumstance.”

“You guys planned something?”

“Just the three of us.”

“You guys planned something for me?” Maybe Dean really is happy. They didn’t have birthdays with John. When Mary was alive, they had parties, but Sam has no idea that happened. He was too young to remember.

“Of course, we planned something for you. We bought steaks and ordered a cake. There are a few surprises but I’m not going to spoil them.”

They spent money on him. They spent time on him.

He feels so guilty.

He’s crying again.

Cas sits up straight and puts his hands on his hips. “Why do good things make you sad?”

“I have no idea.”

Cas bends down and kiss him. It’s so soft and gentle and it says everything Cas has yet to say. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I think I’m excited?” He doesn’t mean it to be a question, but he hasn’t been excited in so long. The closest thing to it he remembers is being nervous or scared.

But he’s so excited. He’s not afraid at all.

“I know you’re thinking more than you’re saying,” says Cas. He kisses Dean’s forehead and rolls off of Dean and lays next to him. He settles on Dean’s chest and reaches up to play with his hair.

“I know. I get lost in my head. I’m so used to being quiet.”

“That’s so sad. I love the sound of your voice.”

Dean blushes. “I love the sound of your voice, too,” he says.

Suddenly someone knocks on the door. “Can I come in?” asks Sam, from the other side.

Cas sits up and moves away from Dean.

Dean sits up and backs against the headboard. “Yeah,” answers Dean.

Sam opens the door “I noticed there was a pause before that ‘yeah.’”

“I had a dick in my mouth,” says Dean. “It took me a minute.”

Sam doesn’t laugh.

“I’m kidding,” says Dean. “We were _snuggling_.” He emphasizes the word just to irritate his brother. It’s no less than he deserves for interrupting their moment.

“Your eyes are red,” says Sam. “Were you crying? Cas, did you make him cry? What happened?”

“I’m fucking free,” says Dean. “I cried because I’ve never been this happy. I’m a free person.”

“Oh, you’re not upset?”

“No,” answers Dean. “Of course not. Cas said you guys planned dinner for me?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” says Sam. 

“I am surprised,” says Dean. “I’m very surprised.”

“Well, there are more surprises today. But you guys have to get up to see them.”

Cas stretches. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Take your time,” says Sam. “But you should know your first surprise happens at noon.”

“What time is it now?” asks Dean.

“You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Then we can’t take our time, can we?” asks Dean. 

“You can take fifteen minutes,” says Sam. Looking smug, he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

Cas gets out of bed and starts getting dressed. “Come on,” he says. 

“What’s the surprise?” asks Dean.

“No,” says Cas, laughing.

“What?”

“I’m not going to be the weak link.”

“It sounds like you are already the weak link.”

Cas tilts his head and turns to face him. “If you really want to know the surprise, I’ll tell you everything. It’s your day. You get to have exactly what you want.”

Dean rolls his eyes and gets out of bed. “I guess I want to be surprised.”

“Good. Granted these are small surprises but I think you’ll like them.”

“I’ve never had any surprises, so this is great.”

If he has to say goodbye to Cas, maybe this isn’t the worst way to do it.


End file.
